


Fickle & Changeable

by anignoranthistorian



Category: Anne with an E (TV)
Genre: F/M, They love each other, but the belle epoque wasn't such a belle epoque, but we get a lot of "half-agony", ill-advised elopement and the aftermath, we cross our fingers for "half-hope", we cross our fingers for historical accuracy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:00:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 21,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24315457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anignoranthistorian/pseuds/anignoranthistorian
Summary: A choice made quickly, a choice made slowly, a choice made wrong that can't be undone.They were silly. They said their vows. They forgot that they are young. They neglected to account for the fact that they are fickle and changeable.Perhaps they can be compelled to remember those first vows they said to one another: that love will be enough.Perhaps.Part 2 of Half-Agony, Half-Hope.
Relationships: Gilbert Blythe/Anne Shirley
Comments: 108
Kudos: 132





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, my friends,
> 
> Here is a prologue to Part Two of my story, a sequel to Half-Agony, Half-Hope. 
> 
> I know, this is a lot of drama for a Shirbert fic, but bear with me, ok? Please? Perhaps this can serve as a reminder that love is wonderful even when it's hard and that we are LUCKY to be alive now.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

_My Darling Gilbert,_

_I’ve made it safely to Charlottetown, though Charlottetown was hardly safe for me when I arrived. I have so many apologies to make in this letter, perhaps I should start off with the smallest?_

_I’m sorry, Gilbert, but I didn’t tell you that I wrote Marilla a note which I entrusted to Diana explaining that I was going to spend the week with you in Ontario. I was so compelled by the notion that young men are more than their parents’ sons that I took it upon myself to become more than my parents’ daughter. I felt so sure that a young man would only need to tell his family his plans rather than to ask for permission, and so I did the same._

_As it would turn out, Marilla had been staying with Mrs. Lynde’s sister here in Charlottetown, awaiting my arrival. When the appointed hour came I longed for the rapture. She did not say a word to me as we travelled to the boarding house, which made everything more ominous. When we had made it to my room, she certainly had enough to say to me. I will not soon forget the verbal lashing she gave me, and I suspect neither will the rest of the neighborhood._

_When my turn to speak came, I told her that I clearly misunderstood the workings of the world. It would seem that there is something fundamentally different between a young man like yourself and a girl like me. I understand now that with each year I will see more and more the doors that are open to you and closed to me. What a thought._

_I certainly feel mororse, Gilbert._

_When Marilla was satisfied that I understood my misdeeds, her entire demeanor changed. She became gentle and promised that Matthew need not know about this, nor should he learn of it, as it would certainly be bad for his heart. She told me she would say a prayer thanking the Almighty for keeping me safe and asked if I would like to go shopping for fabric for my wedding dress._

_My wedding dress, Gilbert._

_I could not look Marilla, the only mother I’ve ever known, in the eye and tell her all of the ways that I have betrayed her._

_Please know that my telegram was not a reflection of a lack of affection for you, but of a fear of the repercussions of our actions and a desire to keep the peace among all those that I love. But I am sorry._

_I am, as ever, your liege woman of life and limb,_

_Anne Shirley-Cuthbert_

_Dear Gilbert,_

_Are you well? I’m of course concerned that I still have not heard from you, but in an effort to “return to normal,” as you are still my beau, I’m writing this second letter to you._

_I’m in the middle of writing a paper on William Blake’s “Songs of Innocence and Experience” and I’m finding “The Garden of Love” particularly compelling. Are you familiar with it? It’s a wonderful mess of religion and the pastoral. Please find a copy of the poem enclosed…_

_Gilbert,_

_I can see that you must be cross with me, but please write! I won’t bother you again until you do._

_Yours,_

_Anne_

It had been two weeks since their wedding and many discarded drafts, letters Gilbert couldn’t bring himself to send. How could there be words to describe the devastation he felt? How could he tell her how angry he was that she locked him into something he only wanted if she wanted it to?

And so it took a fortnight for him to find the will to post his letter, and another week before it was in Anne’s hands. 

_Anne Blythe,_

_Did you read that? That’s a fact. It can’t be undone without bringing havoc down on ourselves and our families, and it most certainly cannot be “pretended” away._

_Unless you’re interested in bringing a case of infidelity in front of a court? Shall I be named the guilty party or shall you? Of course, it would have to wait until I’m home for the holidays, as it’s my understanding that there are no grounds for divorce in Ontario._

_How could you do this to us if you were unsure?_

_Perhaps you’re reading this and thinking I’m quite harsh, perhaps you think it’s unlike me. And it is. I write to you in this fashion because I want to make sure you understand in no uncertain terms that I have never been more hurt._

_And perhaps you doubt even this. Perhaps you’re remembering when my father passed and the blow his death dealt me. But my father couldn’t help but die._

_You could help this, but you didn’t. Did you not care for me enough to be honest with me about the doubts you had? Everything you told me lead me to understand you wanted this marriage as much as I did, but now you’ve locked me into something I_ _only_ _wanted if you wanted it, too._

_How could you do this, Anne?_

_I never believed anyone could be so fickle!_

_Write to me when you have a true apology and a plan forward. In the meantime, I am not your beau._

_Your_ _husband,_

_Gilbert_


	2. Chapter 2

Anne’s hands shook as her eyes rose up from Gilbert’s letter. She looked without seeing, unsure how much time was passing. 

It had come with the evening post the day before. Anne had put off reading it, afraid that the contents may disrupt her sleep. She felt as though she must look like the muse of an aspiring painter, doing his best to rise in his craft, his subjects the tragically ordinary. The artist would attempt to capture the hollowness a woman is left with after a devastating blow from her lover.

Perhaps even her red hair would make a nice contrast against the browns and grays of the rest of the room, the white of her blouse and the pallor of the page the only things pure in the entire scene.

A dreadful, confused boy! How could he not understand that she didn’t regret _him_ , just their recklessness? Everything that she told him had been framed within the context of their obligations to their families, how could he be so selfish now that she had reminded him of their duty?

Would he really ask her to walk up to her sweet Matthew, who couldn’t bear to send her away at the first signs of a mistake, and tell him has she had forsaken him and his one wish for her life? 

Or was this all a deliberate misunderstanding on his part? She felt her face twist at that thought. How could he not see that she _knew_ that it couldn’t be undone? How spiteful of him, with his _Anne Blythe_ and his _Your Husband_! All she desired of him was his discretion, to hold his tongue from uttering the absurdities of their wrongdoing! But here he wrote them, bold as anything for any prying eyes to stumble upon. 

A plan forward? That’s what he wants? He need only be quiet and all will be well. 

She felt her lips purse into a thin line. What a temper she had! 

She took a deep breath and counted to ten as Mary had taught her the summer before. How old she was getting! And how she never seemed to grow up…

It was getting old. 

She reached for her coat, her pen and her papers and set off for campus. The morning post was stacked on a side table in the parlor, the topmost letter addressed simply to “A.S.C.B.” Anne snatched it quickly. She read it as she walked.

_My Sweet Anne,_

_I imagine you’ve received the letter I wrote and posted earlier today. It didn’t take me much time at all to regret my sharp words. I’m sorry, Anne. Forgive me?_

_This letter isn’t to completely take back everything that I wrote, but to revisit several points and reframe them. Please be patient with me._

_Can we establish that we both understand that we cannot undo our marriage? Can we also establish that there is no pleasant way to end this marriage?_

_And from there, the important bit: do you regret this marriage? Or do you regret the timeframe?_

_And for the love of God,_ _say what you mean_ _._

_Do you not want your parents to know? Or are you afraid to tell them? I can be the one to write to them, Anne, or I can tell them in December. Or we can do it together… but I have a feeling you envision never telling them what we did and simply staging a summer wedding in the orchard. Am I right?_

_I don’t want that, Anne. I want to tell them. Do you think you could be brave?_

_I have one more thing to ask you, and far beyond everything else, I beg you to be truthful with me, no matter how uncomfortable or how frightened you are… What is this emotion that’s lead to so many changes in your heart?_

_That isn’t the question, just a pondering._

_But here it is: have you bled this month, Anne?_

Anne rolled her eyes at this. If he really cared, why didn’t he write sooner? She remembered that Dr. Oak had offered him an apprenticeship of sorts. Had she reminded him of the foolishness of their actions?

_I love you more than is decent, maybe more than I should, but there it is._

_Your husband,_

_Gilbert_

Nearly stomping, Anne marched to her favorite corner of the library (much less impressive now that she’d seen Toronto’s facilities). The afternoon was spent hunched over a desk, literally writing out potential plans forward.

PERSUADE PETER TO STEAL HIS STAMPS——— PETER’S ADDRESS??? 

———-GILBERT’S MONEY??

CONVINCE GILBERT THAT TELLING MATTHEW WILL BE A DISASTER———MEDICALLY FOR MATTHEW? MEDICALLY FOR GILBERT? 

——— J ~~ERRY INTIMIDATES GILBERT??~~

DELAY.

———MAKE CONCESSIONS

“Distract him, yes,” she muttered. “Always just one more week. June isn’t so very far away!”

If she were lucky, perhaps offering up the pieces of a marital bliss that he so clearly craved could persuade him to keep his pen out of his hand. It was certainly a risky plan, one false move and he could write to Green Gables in a flash— before she even knew to prepare her family for the news. 

Anne smiled to herself, thinking of their years of precocious rivalry. Perhaps this was one last battle to be won.

With her tactic chosen, Anne picked up her pen of duplicity and set to work.

A week and many hundreds of miles later, an envelope was pressed into Gilbert’s hand. He had trained himself to barely look at his mail in recent weeks, tucking them in his pocket and leaving them there until he could find a private moment. 

But those moments could be hard to find, as so much had changed in his life since his wedding. First there was his group of friends, who had found him on the stoop of his boarding house, still clutching the hated telegram. It was Ralph who tore it from his hands, and then passed it on to Julia, who passed it to Hugh, and then on to Lily, and finally to Peter. They looked to their forlorn friend before speaking.

“So now you know,” Gilbert said with a scowl, not looking at any of them. 

Another beat of silence. “My father hits us,” Peter finally ventured. “He drinks and he hits my mother and my sisters. I’m his height now, so not so much me anymore.”

Gilbert met his gaze, pulled from his own haziness. “What?”

Peter shrugged. “You and Lil shouldn’t be the only ones we know anything about.”

“Are they all right?” Hugh asked quietly.

Peter shook his head slightly, kicking at the edge of the step. “Not really.”

“How are we young with so much we can’t fix?” Gilbert breathed.

“Be quiet,” Lily said harshly. “She’s not dead.”

“Lily…” Hugh said, the reprimand clear in his tone.

“Forgive me for my blunt tongue. I only mean that there’s every chance to make this better.”

“Perhaps she’s only been reading her Tennyson,” Ralph said a bit too jovially. “‘She has heard a whisper say, a curse is on her if she stay, to look down to Camelot. She knows not what the curse may be, and so she weaveth steadily, and little other care hath she… ‘ She’s frightened because she thinks she should be, though she has no idea what the truth of it is.”

“Anne loves ‘The Lady of Shallot,’” said Gilbert thoughtfully.

“That’s rubbish,” pipped Julia. “Women exist in this world as more than just minds ready to be consumed by any suggestion a poet might make!”

Gilbert coughed once. “Well Anne _really_ loves ‘The Lady of Shallot.’” The other men nodded appreciatively. The women looked at one another with matching scowls. “But you should know I may have made things worse,” Gilbert explained. “I may have sent a letter that was written… shall we say, not in my finest moment?”

“What did you say to her?”

“I was condescending. I explained the obvious. I demanded an apology—“

“You _should_ demand an apology! This is positively traitorous!” Lily cried.

Julia ignored her friend. “How old is Anne, Gilbert?”

“She’s sixteen.”

“How can you judge, Lily, you’re hardly in the same place in life,” Julia scolded. “You’ll be 23 in December and Anne probably only let down her skirts a couple of months ago! You’re going to be a doctor, so practice your empathy.”

“The way I see it, all you need to do is send another letter and just tone it down in that one,” said Ralph.

“You think that’s all it will take?”

Hugh shuffled awkwardly on his feet.

“Hugh,” said Gilbert. “Do you know something?”

“I just—” He stopped himself. “From my time with her at the tavern, I think she’s more complex than you give her credit for. She has more in her than stories, more than just a heart full of romance. Anne— and Julia and Lily— they have souls and minds.”

Peter scoffed. “You’re not saying anything new, Hugh. Listen, Gilbert: just write her the damn letter, tell her you still love her but remind her she’s being insane… but in a sensible way! What’s the worst she can do, make you sleep on the couch?” He laughed at his own joke though the rest of the group remained quiet. “See, it’s funny because she’s on the other side of the country and she got on a train right after the wedding. The kid’s still a virgin!” They saw Gilbert’s face flush. “You cheeky bastard!”

“Be quiet!” Gilbert warned. “Someone will hear you!”

Again, Peter laughed. “What are they going to say? You’re married!”

“No one knows except you five. I haven’t even told my family.”

“Well we’re certainly learning a lot about one another today,” commented Ralph. “What family? You said you’re an orphan.”

Gilbert bit his lip. “I honestly never planned to say anything to you,” he told them. “I figured it would never really come up. But I have what you might call ‘an adoptive older brother.’ We adopted each other. We met shoveling coal on a ship—“

“You shoveled coal on a ship? And now you’re _here_?” There was incredulity in Julia’s voice.

Gilbert shrugged. “I wasn’t really doing it for the money or anything, but I was sixteen. My dad was dead. Everyone that I loved was dead. Except Anne, of course. But back then she was alternating between cracking slates over my head and saying half-thought condolences. All the men in the neighborhood only talked to me to offer to buy my farm. I’d spent my childhood going between the island and Alberta. It didn’t seem so out there to take a job on a ship. I met Bash and eventually it was pretty clear we were family, so I asked him to come work the farm with me. Then he met Mary and they got married, and then came my niece Delphine.”

“Is that it?” Peter asked. “So we’ll come visit PEI and have a nice time on the farm? There’s nothing else to know about you? By the way, everyone get your stories ready. We’re all sharing today or I’ll be damned.”

Again, Gilbert shrugged. “You might be surprised to hear my family is black.”

“Oh,” said Lily.

“Oh,” said Hugh.

Peter considered this. “It’s a progressive place, your hometown?”

“No, not really.”

“Hmm. You’re a brave man.”

“No, I’m not. They’re the brave ones. The be all, end all is they’re good people. They look out for me. They love me. I shouldn’t be hiding this from them.”

“Hear, hear!” Called Lily. “Finally, some sense from you.”

And so they went around and told their friends who they were. When it was all over, Gilbert set off for his room, feeling a weight lifted and ready to pen his follow up letter.

Second, there was his time spent with Dr. Oak. His first afternoon he spent in his new apprenticeship, she walked him through Toronto’s poorest neighborhood. There were sounds and sights and smells as he’d never seen before: new immigrants living in ways he couldn’t imagine, ways he had always assumed unlivable. 

“It’s not all young brides with big dreams, Gilbert,” Dr. Oak had told him. He hadn’t had the nerve to tell her he’d actually eloped. “Your Anne will be in a privileged minority. But we can help even things out in small ways.”

“Dr. Oak, what exactly do you _do_ here?”

“Whatever’s needed,” she said simply. He urged her to elaborate. “There’s rather a lot of unpleasantness in our city. It can be rather violent. There are women who are assaulted who don’t even know what’s happening with their bodies. I have pamphlets that I’ve translated that can help a bit, but my grasp of foreign tongues, particularly Italian, is admittedly weak. Some women come to me knowing I’m a doctor and they allow me to examine them, but I have no way to tell them my findings. It can often seem rather futile, so you know. But if you have any ideas, I’m very open to them.”

“It sounds as though we’re left with few options… except to practice our Italian.”

“Quite right,” Dr. Oak said with a sad smile. “There are other women with a bit more English who ask me to help them to stop the babies from coming. Still there are other neighbors who come to me with more general illnesses. There can be disease outbreaks rather frequently. I know you probably see me as someone with some sort of grand plan, but really, I just come here to help, person by person. I hope you will, too.”

Gilbert nodded, unsure how he could do anything else.

And so now, hours after the sun had set, Gilbert pulled the letter from his breast pocket. 

He let out a raspy breath, his fingers moving to trace over her writing in the upper left corner of the envelope, sitting squarely above the return address. 

_A. Blythe,_ it read.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone!
> 
> I was so happy to see so many of you made your way here from Half-Agony, Half-Hope and your comments were amazing! 
> 
> Please let me know what you think as we go along.
> 
> I hope you're all well!
> 
> -S


	3. Chapter 3

_To My Dear and Loving Husband,_

_If ever two were one, then surely we._

_If ever man were loved by wife, then thee._

_If ever wife was happy in a man,_

_Compare with me, ye women, if you can._

_I prize thy love more than whole mines of gold,_

_Or all the riches that the East doth hold._

_My love is such that rivers cannot quench,_

_Nor ought by love from thee give recompense._

_Thy love is such I can no way repay;_

_The heavens reward thee manifold, I pray._

_Then while we live, in love let’s so persever,_

_That when we live no more, we may live ever._

— **Anne B** (radstreet)

Gilbert felt the first genuine smile come to his face in weeks as he ran his fingers over the page, feeling the places where his wife’s pen had pressed with great pressure, taking in the ink splatters, and admiring those small details that made the letter _real_. 

He flipped through the pages, love poems flickering in front of his eyes, looking for her letter, but finding that even the on the very last page she’s transcribed “The Owl and the Pussy-Cat.” He looked through once, twice, thrice more, sure there was something he missed. When it became clear his wife had merely sent him a poetry collection, Gilbert searched for his own pen.

_Dear Anne,_

_Thank you. I can’t describe my elation at seeing your name, my name, our name written out… and then Bradstreet’s poem!_

_As much as I love your taste in poetry and hope to share many hours with you discussing literature, I also hoped to hear more from you regarding where we stand with our loved ones. Have you told anyone we’re married? If you haven’t, may I suggest perhaps telling Diana? Certainly she’ll be gentle in her response. Or maybe Aunt Jo? That would be excellent practice for telling our families. It would be absolutely wonderful if you were to tell Gardner. Is he still bothering you?_

_I’m still eager to get confirmation from you that_ **_all is well._ ** _Please, whatever you write next, let it include an answer to whether or not you’re expecting. There are moments where I am so rattled by anxiety that I stand up and leave the lecture hall or the dinner table. Spare your poor husband? But if I can’t be spared, please tell me so we can plan. All will be well no matter your answer. I promise._

_Am I to write to Green Gables? I’m eager to write to Bash myself. As it stands now, I’ll be writing before the month is up unless you can send word of a plan in your next letter. I’ve received a letter from him asking over our time spent together in Toronto and I won’t lie to him, Anne._

_Sending you all of my love._

_Your liege man of life and limb,_

_Gilbert_

Anne’s response arrived as November came to a close.

_My darling husband,_

_I’m so happy to hear you liked the poems! I spent so very long scouring the library, finding my favorites, and transcribing them all for you._

_I will take this moment, my sweet boy, to tell you that you do not need to abandon your lectures a day longer as we will remain a family of two._

_I’m sorry to have frustrated you, but at the time of my last letter I was still unsure how to handle the situation with our families. I didn’t want to delay my response. I wanted you to know that I understand that we are indeed married, no matter who knows it, and that I love you. You ask what emotion has brought out such changeability in me, and in truth: its fear, but I can’t be persuaded to stop caring for you, adoring you, and loving you._

_But I’m afraid. I don’t want to tell Marilla and Matthew alone, and I don’t want you to write to them. Perhaps we can tell them together in person? The year is not so very long now. I’m sorry it means delaying telling Mary and Bash._

_I am, of course, longing for you._

_Your liege woman of life and limb,_

_Anne B._

She waited until all the other girls had gone to bed before pulling out his letter, most likely his last before the winter holidays, and reading it by candle light. 

_My sweet Anne,_

_Would you believe me if I told you I actually danced with relief when I read your letter? Bobby Alderman has taken the room directly below mine and he did not take kindly to my jig, though generally he has become a bit less of a cad. Recently he cornered me and managed to apologize for his cruelty when I received your first telegram after the wedding. I didn’t tell you at the time, but I received the telegram at the breakfast table, and apparently the other men can read me like a magazine. They stole the telegram from my shocked hands and read it aloud, declaring through a toast that women are fickle and ever-changing creatures in a very pretentious latin._

_“Semper femina!” they would call for about a week and half, each day. Lucky for me but unfortunately for her, another boarder’s long-suffering sweetheart accepted his proposal and so the topic of discussion eventually changed._

_Anyway, Bobby hopes for my help wooing his girl once more. But he is only_ **_less_ ** _of a cad, and so I wouldn’t feel right in helping to bring about some poor lady’s downfall._

_We are getting close to the end of term, and so my leisure time is running low. Please forgive the brevity of this letter. I wanted to bring something up with you: do you not think it will be strange if we return to Avonlea a married couple but separating at night? Perhaps I should write to our families, that way we can prepare to move in together at the Orchard right away?_

_Let me know, as quick as you can, what you think of this idea. I certainly am eager to play a new sort of pretend and make believe we are having the wedding night that was so cruelly denied to us in October._

_Loving you and missing you,_

_Gilbert_

Anne read and reread the end of his letter more times than she could count, each time hoping that an idea would flit into her head, a new way to delay their announcement beyond the winter holidays… but nothing came. Quickly she wrote him back that she was adamant that they should say something in person, even if it meant enduring any awkwardness he had conjured up in his mind a while longer. 

His eagerness to tell their secret made her more panicked as December paced onwards. Would he be liable to come out with it and tell a creeping Roy that he pined over a married woman right at the station? Perhaps she should feign an excuse to not meet his train. 

_Loving you and missing you,_ he wrote. She sighed, knowing that so much of her energy had been spent scheming and praying he wouldn’t lose patience and write to Avonlea despite her best efforts to persuade him otherwise. She’d barely allowed herself time to miss him, her… husband.

It wasn’t a word she’d allowed herself to utter aloud or to slip into her thoughts. It flowed from her pen of duplicity with a life of its own…. a worrying thought, now that she had come to think of it.

Anne let go of her grip on her pen and let her arms fall to her sides. Was this truly the final battle of their childhood’s contention? Or was that passed? Was she declaring a new war, opening the door for a long-running matrimonial strife, beginning something she wouldn’t know how to stop?

It all seemed very grown up all of a sudden. 

She now figured that she had two options: lose Gilbert’s trust, or lose Marilla and Matthew’s. Perhaps if she wasn’t careful she could lose the amity of all three. 

She could at least spare her beloved parents the heartbreak of reading her fate in a letter. Perhaps she should return to Avonlea the moment term is over? She could beat Gilbert there and begin to prepare them for the inevitable. 

Anne vowed to herself that the pen of duplicity would soon be retired.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!
> 
> Here's an itty bitty something, which I figure is better than an itty bit of nothing :)


	4. Chapter 4

“Why are you home? School isn’t over.” This was Jerry’s first and only comment as Anne climbed through the red mud and into the wagon.

“To make sure you haven’t stolen any of my things from my room,” she said with a half-hearted glare. 

“You are bizarre if you think I want any of your feathers or ribbons,” he replied. 

“The peacock feather was very hard to come by! Its owner was a mean one, and even though I took one from the ground that he was no longer using, my hands were pecked at four times!”

“That’s a nice story, Anne, but I still don’t want your feathers.”

Anne crossed her arms and they sat in silence. Perhaps a mile from the station, Jerry tried again.

“But really: why have you come?You are always talking on and on about how much school work you have. Don’t you have exams soon?”

“I don’t see why it should bother you so much,” she huffed.

“Oh, it doesn’t bother me,” he said with a bright smile. “Mais c'est très suspect.” 

“It is not!” She said too loudly. “I just need to speak to Matthew and Marilla about something.”

“You need to talk to Mr. and Miss Cuthbert _this_ weekend? Before term ends?” He pushed.

“ _Yes_ ,” she replied, agitated. “ _This_ weekend.”

“It only makes me wonder why,” he said nonchalantly.

“Go ahead and wonder!” 

“I will!” He said happily. “Have you failed out of school?”

“No!” 

“Have you been kicked out of your boarding house? That would make sense. You never follow any rules.”

“I haven’t been evicted, Jerry,” she said with a sneer.

“‘Evicted,’” he repeated. “I like that word. Has Gilbert left you?”

“He has not!”

“You can’t blame me for that one! It would make some sense. You’re always…” He mimicked Anne, crossing his arms and raising his nose in the air.

“I’m only like that with you.”

“Oui,” he replied. “But its good he hasn’t left you. Mr. Cuthbert is too old to defend any honor you may have, so it would be my job, and I am not in the mood.”

Again, Anne scoffed. “I don’t need you to fight Gilbert Blythe for me, Jerry Baynard.”

“Well I’m not offering to fight him, Anne Shirley-Cuthbert.”Anne turned a deep shade of red. “Oh! It’s in there, somewhere. Whatever you’ve done! What have you done?”

“I’m not telling you,” she said firmly. “I’m telling Matthew and Marilla.”

“Mr. Cuthbert has been weak this autumn. I have been doing many more chores than normal. I think it is his heart again. You should tell me so I can help you decide if its safe to tell him.”

“Matthew’s not well?” Anne asked frantically.

“He is not _sick_ , but he is…old. He doesn’t do well with change and surprise. He just needs things to be easy for him.”

“And Marilla? How has she been with her headaches?” 

Jerry shrugged. “Miss Cuthbert tries to hide them from us, but about a month ago she had to knock on my door in the night so I could help her down the stairs. Her vision can be very bad.”

“How are the Lacroixs?” She asked to change the subject.

“I haven’t seen very much of Mr. and Mrs. Lacroix, but her son Elijah has come back to stay. He is not so bad, but he tells me his mother sometimes compares him to Gilbert. He thinks she likes Gilbert better.” 

“Oh,” Anne said. “That’s not like Mary.”

“I don’t think she means to. They’re just proud of Gilbert, like the Cuthberts are proud of you.”

“I’m leaving for Toronto in January,” Anne told him.

“I know. You’ve already told the Cuthberts that. So that is not your new secret.”

“Don’t you have any secrets? Something you dread me knowing?”

“No,” he said simply.

“How dull.”

“Would you like me to invent a secret?”

“I would!”

“I am actually a lizard,” he told her, his accent coming in strong at the end.

“Could you say something halfway sensible?”

He laughed at her frustration. “I have married a woman of the night. We eloped on All Saints Day.” Jerry turned to see her reaction. “Oh mon Dieu…. Anne, what have you done?”

“I didn’t—“

“Your name is not Anne Shirley-Cuthbert, that’s why you turned red! You are Anne Blythe!”

“Quiet, Jerry!”

“You aren’t telling me ‘no’!”

“Jerry—“

“You eloped! Right? But when?” Anne’s mouth hung open. “You are going to be in so much trouble.”

“I know!” Anne groaned, burying her face in her hands. 

“Why would you get married? Was it even nice?”

Anne hadn’t allowed herself to consider whether her wedding was _nice_. She thought about the off-season, too big dress and the impatient minister. 

“Not really,” Anne said finally.

“Why would you do this?” Jerry questioned. “You only had a few months to go.”

“I don’t know, Jerry!” Anne cried. “For maybe 48 hours while I was in Toronto, it seemed like a good idea!”

“But _why_?” He repeated.

“Because Gilbert asked me to! And… he’s got a nice chin, Jerry, it’s really a splendid chin. I really can’t emphasize that enough. And I just thought… maybe eloping will make him more happy than it will make Marilla and Matthew mad? But that sounds like madness. Marilla’s going to hire an executioner and Mrs. Lynde is going to constantly be checking for a baby—“

“Are you having a baby?!”

“You can’t just ask that!”

“It seems like the thing to ask after something like this!”

“No, Jerry, I’m not having a baby.” She tried to make a face like the one she’d seen Josie pull on so many occasions, which she thought would adequately convey her displeasure. 

“That is good. Maybe the news won’t kill Mr. Cuthbert after all. And I won’t have to fight your husband.”

“Don’t say that word aloud! Pretend like you never learned that this happened. I’m going to talk to Marilla, tell her the truth, because Gilbert has been begging me to. I’m hoping _she’ll_ be the one to insist this stay a secret so that I don’t have to anymore!”

“Gilbert wants people to know? That is a reasonable request, since you did marry him.”

“I _know_ I married him, but it was a lapse in judgment! I will be happy to call him my husband in June.”

“But he’s your husband now,” Jerry reminded her. “You know, Anne? I don’t think the Cuthberts will be very angry. I think they’ll just be angry you didn’t tell them sooner.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Mr. Cuthbert reads the essays you mail to him aloud. The ones your teacher has graded. We all sit in the parlor in the evening and he reads what you wrote about Dickens, or whatever it is you read, and then he reads your teacher’s comments. He is very proud of you.”

Anne bit her lip. “But what about Marilla?” 

“Miss Cuthbert tells Mrs. Lynde and Mrs. Lacroix how much you mean to her while they embroider sheets for your _marriage bed.”_ He raised his eyebrows playfully.

“Don’t _ever_ say that last bit again. What does Mary say, while they’re embroidering? What’s her response like?”

He shrugged once more. “She says you’ll be a good sister and a good aunt. She says she’s glad Gilbert will have you out in Ontario.”

Anne took a deep breath. Perhaps this was manageable. Maybe she could work with this after all. 

Marilla was at the door, directing Jerry to take Anne’s things upstairs for her. 

“Where’s Matthew?” Anne asked as she entered the house.

“Didn’t Jerry tell you? He’s gone to Carmody until tomorrow.”

“Is something the matter?” Anne asked anxiously, remembering what Jerry had told her about Matthew’s health.

“Why do you let yourself fret so quickly, child? He’s just gone for supplies,” Marilla told her as they followed Jerry to Anne’s room. Anne flopped dramatically onto her bed while Marilla watched from the doorway.

“I so adore my gable room, Marilla,” Anne said with a sigh. “Do I tell you often enough how grateful I am you kept me?”

“Oh, you hush. That was so long ago. This is just your home now, but I won’t have you slacking on your studies during your visit! Haven’t you got some revision to do before your exams next week? Now take a seat at your desk and get to it while I get dinner on.”

Anne smiled one last time at Marilla, wondering if moments like this were in short supply.

Two hours later, Anne was helping to clear the table after dinner while Jerry stoked the fire. Anne could see him looking at her from the corner of her eye, clearly wondering if the news had been delivered. When Marilla had gone upstairs, Anne called out to him.

“I haven’t said anything yet, so you can stop staring!”

“Mind your manners, both of you!” They heard Marilla call down the stairs. 

“Sorry!” They yelled back in unison. 

When Anne reentered her room, she saw that Marilla had added a quilt to her bed. She’d also brought up a small basin with warm water and soap for Anne to wash with and had laid out a clean nightgown over the desk chair. 

Anne undressed slowly and deliberately, hands shaking as she raised water to her face, wondering if this was the last kindness Marilla would extend to her.

She pulled the nightgown over her head and stepped barefoot to the bed, fingers tracing over the embroidery on her pillow.

_Anne of Green Gables._

She held it to her chest as she quietly made her way down the hallway and knocked on Marilla’s door. 

“Yes?” Anne heard her muffled voice call through the door.

“It’s me,” Anne replied quietly. “May I come in?”

“You may.” Anne opened the door. Marilla was under her covers, perched up on pillows, a small leather bound book in her lap. “What is it?”

“I just wondered if I could sit with you for a little while?” Anne asked in a small voice. Marilla nodded in response and so Anne sat at the foot of the bed, perched delicately on the end.

Marilla gave her an inquisitive look. “Are you making yourself nervous about the exams, child? Because we’ve talked about this: all you can do is your best.” Anne bit her lip, looking towards the floor. Marilla patted the empty piece of bed to her right. Anne climbed over the bed and nestled under the blankets while Marilla adjusted the pillow so Anne could sit upright as well. “Why don’t you tell me what is you’re thinking about?”

“It’s not what you think it is,” Anne whispered.

Marilla scoffed and shook her head. “What do they make mothers for, if not to listen to their children?”

Anne always felt an acute swell in her heart whenever Matthew and Marilla referred to themselves as her parents, or her their daughter, and in this moment, it was nearly enough to make her weep.

Instead Anne wrapped her arms tightly around her mother. 

“What’s all this about?” Marilla asked from deep within Anne’s embrace.

“I just wanted to do this one last time before you loathe me.” With this, the tears began to fall freely.

Marilla pulled away and took in Anne’s expression, raising her own hands to begin wiping away tears. “What do you mean, Anne? Surely it’s not so bad.”

“Should I just say it?” Anne said through sobs.

“Yes, you should!”

“Gilbert and I got married in October! It was a wretched ceremony and it wasn’t planned and I regretted it as soon as I was on the train home! I’m so sorry!” Anne could feel Marilla’s arms become tense around her. In fear, Anne began to chant her apology, over and over again as her face became hot and sticky from emotion and tears and her head began to ache from all the energy it took to express such regret. 

Still Marilla said nothing.

After several minutes with no response, Marilla began pulling frantically on the bedcovers and then tugging on Anne’s nightgown, laying her hand on Anne’s stomach.

“Are you pregnant!” It wasn’t a question.

“No, Marilla, I’m not! Nothing has to change—“

“Who knows?”

“Just you! And Gilbert’s friends in Toronto.”

“‘Nothing has to change!’” Marilla echoed in disbelief. “You are someone’s _wife_ , child! This is not a game of pretend!”

“I know, Marilla!” Anne cried. “I’m sorry! I regret it, I’m sorry!”

“Why would you do this? When we _told_ you to wait?”

“Gilbert wanted to,” Anne whimpered.

“‘Gilbert wanted to!’ And if Gilbert wants to move to Shanghai and open a black magic shop, are you going to agree?”

“No, Marilla, but he just—“

“I will have plenty to say to Gilbert Blythe come next weekend, but we raised you to have a mind! Have I failed so much as a mother that you don’t even know that you can use your voice and say ‘no’? You could have said ‘no’ at any point, and Gilbert would have taken that as law!”

“I know,” And said, voice cracking. “I wish I had. I’m sorry.”

“Why has Gilbert sent you here all alone to tell us? Why didn’t he act as a gentleman would, and write to us—“

“I told him not to!” Anne shouted. “I kept delaying and delaying, I hoped I could delay him until summer, but I can’t! He wants to be honorable too badly! I have letters with me, if you want to see him. But if it were up to Gilbert, it would have been shouted from the highest rooftop in every province.” The room was silent for several moments. “Are you going to tell Matthew, Marilla?” Anne asked, nose running.

Marilla pursed her lips. “Go to bed.”

“Marilla—“

The woman raised a hand to silence Anne. “I can handle no more tonight. Go to bed.”

In disbelief, Anne climbed slowly out of the bed. Marilla blew out her candle, the room going dark just as Anne opened the door to leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! I just wanted to take a few moments here to talk about what's going on in this story. I read all of your comments, and I can see that there are people who are confused and concerned about where this story is going, so I wanted to just take a second to discuss some characterization choices I've made (lol if anyone's interested).
> 
> Anne is so young! Many times in the series, we see her being portrayed as suffering from some sort of anxiety disorder, or potentially PTSD. She's had it hard! In the back of her mind, I imagine she would always be a bit worried that something that could get her sent away. She doesn't delay Gilbert because she doesn't love him or doesn't want to be his wife... she is just hyper-focused on doing it in the way that she knows her family will approve of. She's just a 16 year old kid who made a decision one day that they regretted the next, just as you may have. The difference is the year's 1899 and it can't be undone. Who can blame her for being frightened to tell people?
> 
> That's all I really had to say. I hope you liked this chapter :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone ready for another dialogue-heavy chapter?

“We’ll all be going on a visit to see the Lacroixs this morning,” Marilla announced at the breakfast table, her words clipped. Matthew had arrived back from Carmody at dawn, weariness written all over his face.

“That won’t be possible, Marilla. Too much to do after a full day away.”

“We will  _ all  _ be going, Matthew,” Marilla replied pointedly. 

“Even me?” Jerry asked, confused.

Anne caught Marilla’s eye from the other end of the table, dramatically mouthing “no.” 

“How many times do I have to say all of us?” Marilla said, standing from the table and taking half-eaten plates of food from Jerry and Matthew.

“I wasn’t finished, Marilla,” Matthew told her in a low voice. She set his plate back down but did not relinquish Jerry’s.

“This is your fault,” Jerry said, turning to face Anne. “You have made her angry and now I do not get to finish my breakfast.”

“Shush!” Anne looked quickly to Matthew to see how much he had picked up on. The man merely shrugged.

“This is between you and Marilla. I don’t want to know,” he said to the two young people. “Ready for exams, Anne?”

“Oh, yes! Just a bit more revision and I should be as good as ever!”

“And has Gilbert found you a boarding house for January? Don’t leave that until the last minute,” Matthew cautioned.

Marilla turned sharply from the sink, an eyebrow raised. “Yes, Anne: has Gilbert taken care of getting you a room in Toronto?”

Anne felt her cheeks flush under her knowing gaze. “It’s something that’s still....being considered.”

Marilla put a hand to her temple and closed her eyes. “Fine. Put on your coats. I want to go right away.”

“Marilla, you’re not feeling well,” said Matthew. “Why not delay the visit a bit?”

Marilla pursed her lips. “It’s waited long enough. Don’t you think, Anne?”

But Matthew was already reaching for his coat and gesturing Anne over to him.

“Marilla has a bone to pick with you. Best to get it over with,” he said as he handed Anne her scarf. 

“You’ll have a bone to pick with her, too, once you hear what she’s done this time, Matthew,” Marilla called from the parlor where she was putting out a candle. 

“Is that true, Anne?” She had never regretted her elopement more than in that moment, with sweet, gentle Matthew looking down at her, wondering what she could have possibly done that was so bad that it would incur his displeasure.

“Yes,” she said in a small voice. 

He put a heavy hand on her shoulder. “We’ll see.”

Marilla had finished pinning her hat to her head, a sure sign it was time to leave. Anne began her march to the Orchard, trying to be mature, trying not to imagine herself an accused witch being taken to the gallows, her feet sinking into the mud with each step through the early winter mists. 

It was Jerry who knocked on the front door while Anne wrung her hands and Marilla straightened her skirt. Matthew stood to the back of the group.

Mary Lacroix answered the door, a fussing baby on her hip. Despite the stress of managing the child and guests, Mary smiled brightly, if not bemusedly, at her neighbors.

“Hello, everyone,” she said. “This is a surprise.”

“You have no idea,” Marilla said, which made Anne’s face burn in embarrassment. “May we come in?”

The smile falling, Mary stepped aside to let them in. “Is this something Sebastian should be here for?”

“Most definitely,” was Marilla’s reply.

Mary’s brows furrowed in worry. “Is it something bad?”

“That’s a question for Anne.”

Mary’s gaze shifted to the young woman, who was swaying awkwardly and looking at her shoes. “Anne?”

But she got no response. Mary handed her daughter into Jerry’s unsuspecting arms and turned back to the door, tearing it open.

“Sebastian! Sebastian!” She yelled. After a few moments, both Bash and Elijah emerged from the barn. 

“What is it? Don’t you know the horse doesn’t put on its own shoes?”

“Your brother has done something moronic!”

“That’s not news--”

“The Cuthberts are  _ here _ ,” she said to clarify. 

“Oh,” her husband replied. “That sort of moronic.”

“Get in here!” She yelled, letting the screen door slam behind her. 

The entire group piled into the kitchen. Mary pulled her seat close to Anne, placing a hand on the girl’s and looking at her with great solemnity.

“All right, Anne,” Mary began. “This is not a good situation, but you have to tell me: how far along are you?”

“What? Mary, no. That’s not what I’m here to tell you--” Bash sank into a chair, relief written on his face. “It’s something else.” All eyes were on her. Anne felt her toes curling tightly within her shoes, felt her shoulders slump, subconsciously trying her hardest to make herself small, to disappear into the oak chair. “I got married?” Her voice hitched up at the end, as though it were a question which awaited a response.

“To Gilbert?” Jerry asked.

Anne shot him a harsh look. “Oh, don’t pretend that you don’t already know!”

“You knew, Jerry?” Marilla cried. “And didn’t say anything to us?”

“Now you’ve gotten me in trouble, Anne! Let’s not forget who we are here to talk about!” 

On the other side of the table, Elijah was leaning in so only his mother and her husband could hear, a smirk on his face: “Does this mean I’m the good one now?”

And with that the room was in chaos, Anne and Jerry bickering, Marilla asking aloud how Anne even got the money to go to Toronto to create this mess in the first place, Mary crossing her arms defensively, and Bash explaining through gritted teeth that they send Gilbert money in small installments so that he  _ can’t _ make insane decisions on a whim.

“Well maybe they planned it,” Elijah volunteered loudly. This set Marilla, Mary, and Bash on a new tirade, demanding to know of the others who could possibly have facilitated such an outrageous plan. 

“We didn’t plan it!” Anne said loudly to end the diatribes. “We sold things to pay for the trip, and then we decided to elope on the Friday, spent the weekend planning it, and were married on the Monday!”

From the far corner of the table, Matthew cleared his throat. “So you’re saying, Anne, that you had the whole weekend to change your mind? And you got married anyway?”

Anne felt the air leave her lungs. “Yes,” she said after a moment. “That’s what happened.” She watched Matthew look to his folded hands.

“And you didn’t want us there? At your wedding? You didn’t want me there?” He asked without looking at her. 

She wanted to wrap him up in a hug and never let anything hurt him. “I wanted you there, Matthew.”

“Why did you do this, Anne?” Bash asked, understanding that Matthew would need a moment to himself after that confrontation. “Why did you and Gilbert do this?”

“None of us understand. Help us to understand,” Mary added.

Everyone turned when Jerry chuckled. “‘Gilbert has a splendid chin, Jerry,’” he said simply. “That’s what she told me, at least.”

Anne saw Marilla close her eyes, heard her exhale loudly. “Anne Shirley-Cuthbert, if you married this boy just because he has a  _ splendid _ chin, so help me--” 

“I married him because I love him!” Anne blurted out. Again, she had the room’s attention. “And… if we hadn’t done it in October, we probably would have found a way to do it over the holidays. We don’t want to be separated from one another.” The truth of it hit her hard. Suddenly she remembered what had flitted through her head  _ that  _ Friday and stayed in her head the entire weekend long. “We knew at that point that I was going to be in Toronto in January, so why not reach out and grasp at the most profound happiness that we had available to us? Why should we separate each day in that lonely city when we could have a piece of our homes-- of our families-- with one another? And that’s why Gilbert did it, but I won’t put any more words in his mouth. I’m sorry we didn’t at least wait until December so that everyone could be there. If it makes anyone feel any better, the wedding was hardly any fun, but I hope you can see this from the perspective of two young lovers who had already made their decision to be with one another until the end of time, and who so desperately wanted to be tied to the other as soon as possible.”

By the end of her spiel, Anne felt more like herself than she had in a month. There was silence for a moment as the room absorbed what she had said.

“Why did you two wait to tell us?” Was Bash’s response.

Anne gave a nervous laugh. “Because this,” she gestured to the group. “Is terrifying!”

“All right, maybe that’s true,” said Mary thoughtfully. “But what happens now?” No one spoke for a moment.

“I’m hoping,” Anne began tentatively. “That we can keep this between us. We won’t have any secrets with each other. This way, we can just put this all aside and go ahead with the original plan to get married in June.”

Again, silence while some mouths hung open and brows furrowed.

“Were you raised by moose?” Jerry wondered aloud.

“I think you mean ‘wolves,’ Jerry. And no, I wasn’t,” Anne replied with a roll of her eyes.

“No: I mean moose. They seem much stupider than wolves.”

“Hey!”

“You married him!” Jerry reminded her. “You are very foolish if you think you can pretend that you didn’t. This is Gilbert Blythe that is your husband, no? He is a romantic fool.”

“I don’t think we should make any plans until Gilbert is here!” Anne said, suddenly standing from the table. “This is his life, too!”

“But what is it that he’s told you he wants, Anne?” Bash asked. Mary turned to her husband sharply.

“What do you think it is that he wants? He’s 19 years old and head over heels in love. He’ll want to move her in and shout it from the rooftops. I’m telling you, Bash, you should have put the fear of God in him while we still had the chance--”

Elijah laughed at this.

“Hey!” Bash called, pointing to him. “You’re not too old for us to put the fear of God in you. No one’s the good one now.”

“Do you really think we’re not good anymore?” Anne worried.

“This is why we told you to wait!” Marilla sighed. “I’ll tell you, Anne, I often think you’re a young sixteen.”

“All right,” Anne said, feeling tired. “I’m a young sixteen. Can we just agree that this stays between us for a week? Until Gilbert gets home? And then he and I can decide--”

“You’ve already made your decision!” Said Marilla. “You married him. Now, I won’t make you tell the town alone. He is just as responsible for this situation as you are. But we are not going to pretend this didn’t happen.”

“Marilla, I don’t want to give up Green Gables, or leave behind my life with you and Matthew--”

“Well you ought to have thought of that, because that’s what wives do!” Marilla put her hands on each of Anne’s shoulders, looking down at the girl. “Now you’ve picked a good husband, so you have nothing to be worried about, but you  _ are  _ Gilbert Blythe’s wife, and there will be certain things which are expected of you once the town knows-- and they will know as soon as he is home!-- and one of those things is that you will move out of your childhood home and live with him. Surely you know that’s what happens after a wedding?”

Anne’s mind was foggy. She took a step back, freeing herself from Marilla’s grasp. “I have to go,” she said vaguely. “I need to take a walk.”

Quickly she gathered her coat and left the house behind. She felt like a forgotten piece of driftwood, being pushed and pulled by the tides with little control over what came next. She felt alone. And young. And old.

She wished Gilbert was there. 


	6. Chapter 6

Gilbert emerged onto the train platform in a haze, the long journey leaving his mind foggy and his feet clumsy. His muscles ached as he dragged his trunk behind him, his eyes barely stayed open as he scanned the crowd for a spec of red. 

Instead the air was leaving his lungs as arms wrapped tightly around his middle.

“Thank God you’re here, Gilbert, everything is going dreadfully! I told Marilla, and she forced me to tell everyone at my house and everyone at yours, and if you can believe it, everyone is in a wretched mood over it! No one is happy about the elopement, except maybe Elijah. He thinks he’s the good one now. But, Gilbert, they’re going to pick and prod and push us in any which way they want us, and I won’t stand for it! But it’s very hard to take a stand against so many people all alone. Oh, I’m so glad you’re home. I’m so tired.”

He looked down at his wife’s sad face and was struck by how very young she looked. He pulled her a bit closer and opened his mouth to speak.

“Anne! Heaven is merciful, I’ve caught you before you could go!” A young man of medium build and dark hair came quickly to stand beside the couple.

Anne sighed, pulling away from Gilbert’s embrace. “Roy, please. Not today. Gilbert’s just arrived and we have important things to talk about--”

Gilbert watched Roy’s eyes flicker to him, taking in his appearance. “I have important things to talk to you about!” Roy exclaimed. “Please, Anne, take pity on me and let me say what I need to.”

“You’re the fellow who’s been bothering Anne all term,” said Gilbert, understanding coming through his tired brain. “You follow her home and wait for her to come out of her boarding house even though she’s repeatedly asked you not to. Why would you do that to any young lady? More specifically, why would you do that to my Anne, when she’s already clearly spoken for? And here you are again! You have some nerve--”

“I’m here for the same reasons you are,” said Roy, his chest puffed.

“I really don’t think you are--”

“Anne, please: just five minutes of your time? That’s all I’m asking.”

“Anne, he has been unpleasant to you for months. Don’t think you have to go off and listen to him for a moment longer if you don’t want to,” Gilbert advised. 

Gilbert watched as Anne pursed her lips. “Roy, I’m sorry, but I’ve made my intentions very clear and now I really need to speak with Gilbert privately. I hope you enjoy your holidays--”

But Roy was already grabbing at Anne’s left hand and taking a knee.

“What!” Gilbert exclaimed loudly.

“Anne, you know how much I adore you,” Roy told her as he pulled a blue velvet box from his pocket. “There is no one else like you, and I can’t lose you. Please, reconsider. I could give you the world, I  _ will  _ give you the world!”

Anne’s mouth hung open in shock. Roy smiled widely, taking her silence as a “yes,” he slid the large diamond ring onto her hand. It sat atop the sapphire ring and the thin band of gold that Anne had been finally wearing in the week since her confession to her family.

“Is this real life?” Gilbert said to one of the families that watched on eagerly, disbelief written all over his face. Something about the way the father shook his head disapprovingly and the mother covered her mouth with a gloved hand, and the brother and sister laughed brought Gilbert back to reality. He flung himself between Anne and Roy. “Gardner, what are you doing? You reckless fool! That’s my wife!”

“What?” 

“Can’t you see there are already two rings on that finger? Are you insane?”

“You married him, Anne?” Asked Roy, his face contorting in confusion. 

“Yes, please can we just part ways now? No hard feelings, but please, everyone is staring…” Anne looked around the train platform nervously. At her words, the bystanders began to disperse a bit, embarrassed to have been noticed. 

Roy rose then, unsteady on his feet. He looked Anne in the eye, stiffening his upper lip. “Well, Anne,” he began. “This only serves to show us all what a foolish woman you are.”

“Gardner, will you follow me?”

“It’s Blythe, right? No, Blythe: I won’t follow you.”

“Are you afraid to take a punch, then?” Gilbert asked casually.

“What?” Roy’s voice had risen half an octave.

“I’m going to hit you. You’ve been a brute to my wife, and if we weren’t in such a public place I’d hit you right now.”

Anne clung to his arm. “Gilbert, no! We are in so much trouble right now, we don’t need to add this onto it! Let’s just go home so they can yell at us and get it out of their systems. Let Gardner go home and nurse his wounds. Don’t give him any more--”

“Did you hear what he called you, Anne?”

“People are always going to say nasty things about me, Gil, you can’t punch every last one of them!”

“I can punch this one!” 

“No, no you can’t! See that?” Anne pointed down the tracks. “That’s our train! The sound of its whistle pulling into Bright River is going to be our requiem! You are not hearing me clearly when I tell you things are going to be hard enough without you having to explain in a police precinct why you’ve been in a fight!”

Gilbert could see angry tears coming to Anne’s eyes. He let Gardner walk away, instead taking the same hand which Roy had just held and raised it to his lips. “It’s going to be all right now,” he told her.

“How can you know that? Wait until you see: everything is such a mess.”

He smiled down at her, running his thumb across the back of her hand. “It’s going to be all right because we’re together now,” he told her. “Besides, our families don’t really want anything bad to happen to us. They just want to show their frustration, which is understandable. You’ve done your part in telling them, and I am so proud of your bravery, Anne, I know this was such a feat for you. Now I’m home so I’ll take the brunt of the rest.”

“You shouldn’t have to--”

“No, I won’t hear it! It’s my turn, and that’s all there is to it,” he said with a smile. Even with the weight of knowing he was likely in for the scolding of his life, Gilbert felt lighter than he had in months: here he was, living openly with his wife, no secrets or misunderstandings stood between him and his happiness. All there was left to do was to convince their loved ones that this was something to be celebrated. And how hard could that be, when it was simply a celebration that came a bit early?

Gilbert ignored his exhaustion and hauled both his and Anne’s trunks onto the train that would take them home. Once they were in their seats, Anne spread her skirt across both of their knees and took his hand in hers among the folds. Gilbert was immediately reminded of their journey in September, of the stress of their parting. He smiled at the thought that they need never part from one another again. 

“All right,” Anne began, her tone very serious. “Here is a brief synopsis of everything that’s happened. I’ve spent the last two days trying to compose my thoughts, and this is not nearly  _ everything _ but it should be sufficient. Forgive me for any lapses.”

“All right.” He tried to hide his smirk. “What should I know?”

And so it began. Anne explained how she had told Marilla and had gotten a decidedly negative reaction, she told of being marched to the Orchard alongside everyone at Green Gables to explain the elopement to everyone, she spoke of the assumptions all around that she was pregnant, of their families arguing over who facilitated their mere ability to make such a reckless decision, of Mary’s regret at not putting “the fear of God” into her brother-in-law while she still had the chance, of Marilla’s insistence that they tell people as soon as Gilbert had arrived home that they were married.

“That won’t be so bad,” Gilbert commented. “It’s happy news to be handing out.”

“Oh, Gilbert, there’s more. I told Diana on Monday. She hasn’t spoken to me since.”

This took him aback. The look on his wife’s face told him that this was to be his first challenge as a husband. He knew he could be kind and supportive and say all the right things to put her mind at ease, he just had to figure out how all of that was done.

He gave her a hand a squeeze beneath the folds of her skirt. “I’m sure she just needs time to adjust to the idea,” he assured her.

She gave a small shake of her head. “She said ‘this is a betrayal that I didn’t know you were capable of, Anne Shirley-Cuth-’ but then she cut herself off, because she realized that wasn’t my name.

“But it’s not really a  _ betrayal _ , is it?” He pushed. “You didn’t make any promises to her-”

“Oh, Gilbert, you don’t understand girls at all,” she said sympathetically, patting his hand. “Of course we’ve made promises to one another! We’re bosom friends! I’m her liege woman of life and limb!”

“Yes, but you’re also my liege woman and life and limb  _ and  _ my wife,” he reminded her. “Surely she sees how that trumps out?”

“The betrayal is that I would put myself in a position where I’d owe greater loyalty to someone other than her before we were both at a point in our lives where the world would push us both far enough apart where that would be a touch understandable! But we were supposed to be Queens students together… going to soirees and wandering Charlottetown, adventuring. And instead…” Anne gestured between them, her hand falling heavily onto her lap, a frown on her face. 

“It’s going to be alright,” was all he managed. 

Her smile seemed to say she felt bad for him. 

It was Jerry who waited to collect them from the station.

“They’re all waiting at Green Gables to yell at you,” he told Gilbert.

“Yell at me? Isn’t that a bit much?” Gilbert asked as he helped Anne up. 

“Oh, no,” said Jerry happily. “They will yell for a long time. They have been yelling all week. They are happy you are home so they can tell you that you are a fool.”

“I’m sure they’ll welcome me home? At least for a moment? I’ve been gone for months.”

At this, Jerry shook his head and grabbed the reins. “They can’t believe you would make such a big mistake.”

“Anne?” Gilbert questioned.

“They can’t believe it,” Anne echoed. 

Gilbert was lost in thought for the rest of the ride. Anne and Jerry allowed him his space, as they would a convicted prisoner on his way to the electric chair. 

He had never allowed himself to believe that his family would think that his marriage was a genuine mistake. A surprise, surely, but not a mistake. Anne wasn’t a mistake, didn’t Bash see that? He began thinking of a defense. He was sure to remind his brother that he had known their dear Mary for hardly a fortnight before proposing to her, completely drunk. 

More than that, it was hardly a sin to take a woman as his wife! And they were married by a minister, in a church, with witnesses and vows-- it was all very proper! And,  _ perhaps _ , if none of those arguments worked, he would confess to Bash-- and Bash only-- that he had  _ known  _ Anne before they agreed to elope, and he would see that the only honorable thing to do was to marry her. Surely, Bash would be disappointed in him but he would come to understand that it was the best course forward. Perhaps his brother’s influence would sway the tides for him and his bride…

Before he knew it, they were coming to a stop in front of Green Gables.

“Don’t go in without me,” said Jerry as he helped bring the trunks down.

“Why?”

“I want to watch,” he said simply. 

Jerry left to bring the carriage and the horses into the barn.

“We’re not waiting for him,” Anne said blandly, already beginning to ascend the steps of the porch. 

Walking into the Cuthberts’ kitchen and looking into the parlor, where both of their families were primly poised, china tea cups in hand, a matching grimace on every last one of their faces, was rather surreal. 

“Hello,” he called out, though he received no response. 

They heard the door open behind them. “You went in without me! What did I miss?” 

“They haven’t started yelling yet,” Anne muttered to Jerry. 

“What are you waiting for?” Jerry called to the group in the parlor. 

Gilbert saw Bash shake his head. “I just don’t know what I’m supposed to say to you, my brother.”

“‘Welcome home’?” Gilbert ventured. 

Mary scoffed. “And what do you have to say for yourself?”

Gilbert took Anne’s hand and slowly lead them both into the parlor. He stood before them for a moment in silence. Anne elbowed him in his side, prompting him to speak.

“I don’t think I need to apologize for marrying Anne,” he said. “Just for the timing, and for not doing the respectful thing, which would be to tell you, our family, of my intentions. I’m sorry for not doing that.”

And Bash laughed.

“Gilbert,” said Marilla calmly. “What on God’s green earth made you think it was all right to marry a sixteen year old girl who was alone in a strange city without a single member of her family present?”

That was an interesting question. One for which he did not prepare…

“I don’t look at Anne and see just a sixteen year old girl, I look at her and see my life partner--”

Another laugh from Bash. 

“Would you like to tell me what’s so funny?” Gilbert asked his brother.

“You think you can talk yourself out of this one, Blythe? We’re sitting here waiting for you to admit like a man that you did wrong so we can get to the real business of figuring out what we’re going to do with your sorry selves.”

“You think I did the wrong thing, Bash?”

“I know you did the wrong thing.”

“So you think it was wrong for me to marry Anne?”

“Yes, and I’m not liking how you’re breaking this down so far.”

“I just wonder if you’d come outside with me a moment so I can give you a new piece of information that might change your mind.”

“Gilbert: no,” Anne said through gritted teeth, tugging hard on his arm.

“Anne: yes.”

Bash rose from the sofa and followed Gilbert outside. The rest of the group sat in silence for five minutes, sometimes hearing Bash’s muffled yells from outside the house. Eventually the man came stomping back in.

“What happened? What did he say?” Mary asked her husband anxiously.

“John Blythe is rolling in his grave. But what could we do? The boy didn’t get the stupid from our side of the family.”

“What did he do?” She demanded. 

Gilbert came back in then, slowly, like a scared animal testing to see if the situation was safe. 

“Gilbert,” Marilla said sternly. “Your father would be very disappointed in you.”

“That’s not fair to say, Marilla,” cried Anne. “Gilbert, don’t let what they’re saying bother you. I’m sure, after a moment’s thought, your father would be proud that you’ve reached out to grab hold of your own happiness and that you’ve made your own family in this world.”

“He would have a lot to think about before he ever made it that far,” mumbled Bash.

“Are you going to tell us what he said or not?” Mary asked.

“No, because I don’t want you to be locked up in a penitentiary.”

Marilla put a hand to her temple in exasperation.

A knock on the door.

“Marilla, who is it?” Anne asked.

Marilla was already crossing the room. “We had to spread the news some way.” The woman opened the door to reveal Mr. and Mrs. Thomas Lynde.

“No!” Anne and Gilbert groaned in unison.

Marilla put on a smile. “Rachel, Thomas: how are you? Please come in, I have dinner roasting in the oven. We’re going to be celebrating.”

“And what is it that we’re celebrating?” Asked Rachel, a cheeky smile coming to her face.

“Anne and Gilbert’s marriage,” Marilla said simply.

Rachel Lynde’s head turned with remarkable speed, her eyes narrowing like a cat with its prey in its sight. 

The evening was a nightmare for the young couple. Mrs. Lynde monopolized all conversation, asking them every manner of question. Within thirty minutes, she had a better grasp on the timeline of their engagement, elopement, and marriage than either Gilbert or Anne had had themselves. 

“Well Cuthberts, Lacroixs,  _ Blythes _ ,” Rachel said as the dessert plates were being cleared away. “This has been a delightfully informative evening. Thank you, Marilla, for having us round. Now come on, Thomas, up you get. We’ll see ourselves out. See you all  _ very  _ soon.”

The door closed loudly behind the Lyndes.

“ _ Marilla _ !”

“What, Anne? It’s done! Now we can all wipe our hands clean of it and go to bed!” The group took that as their cue to begin the journey to their beds. Anne turned to wish Gilbert goodnight, but saw instead that he held her coat in his hands and his hand out for her to take.

“What?” Anne choked. She turned back to Matthew and Marilla. “Surely I’m not moving out  _ tonight _ ?” 

“Anne, it’s as good a time as any, now that Rachel Lynde knows. The town will know by morning.”

“But none of my things are there--”

“Jerry and Matthew have been packing up your room and bringing your things over all week.”

“Matthew!” Anne’s heart fell, feeling some sense of abandonment and betrayal at the idea that Matthew had helped to facilitate what she viewed as a premature diplomatic handoff. 

He shrugged in response. “Sometimes we make decisions, Anne, and we just have to live with them.”

Anne felt tears brimming. She took her coat from her husband’s arms and left the house, walking quickly across the familiar hills to the Blythe orchard. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I do the completely corny thing and have Roy propose on a train platform? And did I take the cliche even further and have Gilbert threaten to fight him?  
> I did.   
> Burn me as a witch, I deserve it lol.
> 
> Enjoy your day! The long overdue wedding night is next!


	7. Chapter 7

“Anne.” 

His voice came gently over the peak of the hill. It was a clear night lit softly by the waning moon. Winter was silent, the wind still as Gilbert reached out for his wife’s hand. 

“Let’s walk home together,” he said quietly.

“I’m not quite ready to go in yet,” she replied. He didn’t remind her of the dropping temperature or the late hour, understanding that she was in a transitional space. She couldn’t turn back, but he wouldn’t push her forward before she was ready. “I worry,” she began, and Gilbert held his breath. “That even my greatest imaginings will fail me when it comes to the moon and I will never write something that describes her beauty. I would love to write a poem, particularly a Spencerian sonnet, about the moon but I won’t put her to shame! But I worry…”

Sometimes he wondered if she told the whole truth, or if she spoke in metaphor which she left for him to decipher. 

“What could I do to make you worry less? To make it all easier?”

She turned to him eagerly. “Do you know any tragical, devastating poems? I would love to hear you recite a poem. You have such a melodious voice, it would be an absolute dream to hear you bring the saddest words to life. I’m sure it would set everything into perspective for me!”

“Well,” he squirmed under her gaze. “I’m not sure I’ve memorized any  _ tragical  _ poems so entirely, and I’d hate to fall short-”

“You could never fall short! Please, just one little poem?” She held her hands up as though to beg. He could see now what this was all about: she longed for a distraction, and who was he to deny it to her? He remembered how he’d left home behind when he was Anne’s age, desperate to separate himself from it. But Anne was different. To whatever degree he longed for his freedom at sixteen, Anne clearly longed for stability. He could give her stability! 

...Or was she just a young girl who didn’t want to be separated from her parents? He couldn’t help much with that…

“Gil?” She questioned.

He shook his head in an effort to clear his thoughts. He put on a smile. “All right, Anne. ‘It was many and many a year ago, in a kingdom by the sea, that a maiden there lived whom you may know by the name of Annabel Lee-” Anne squealed with delight. 

“ _ And this maiden _ ,” Gilbert said pointedly to regain her attention. “She lived with no other thought than to love and to be loved by me.” His heart leapt as she smiled brightly at this line. “ _ I  _ was a child and  _ she  _ was a child, in this kingdom by the sea, but we loved with a love that was more than love-- I and my Annabel Lee-- with a love that the winged seraphs of Heaven coveted her and me. And the angels, not half so happy in Heaven--”

“No, you’ve forgotten a stanza!” Anne cried. “After the winged seraphs line, it’s ‘And this was the reason that, long ago, in this kingdom by the sea, a wind blew out of a cloud…’ Don’t you remember now?”

“You already know this poem?” He asked with a bemused smile.

“Yes, of course: everyone knows ‘Annabel Lee,’” she said dismissively. “But I want to hear you say it! Keep going, we’re getting to the heartbreaking part!”

So he carried on, painting the tragedy with broad strokes, sometimes calling on Anne’s help to revive a line from deep within his memory, sometimes dramatizing a stanza for his wife’s benefit. 

“And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side of my darling-- my darling-- my life and my bride, in her sepulchre there by the sea-- in her tomb by the sounding sea,” he concluded.

Anne stood with her hands on her hips, breathing deeply as though to drink up his words and the cold night air. After a moment, she looped her arm through his.

“That was the finest reading I’ve ever heard, Dr. Blythe, a true medicine for a weary soul. Positively delectable in every way. I’ll be sure to cry myself to sleep.”

“What?” 

“Oh, yes,” she told him with fervor. “Tonight I think I should cry as a means to symbolize the final stage in my transition to womanhood and you have so kindly given me the fodder I need!”

“Anne, I don’t want you to cry during our first night together in our own room--” He watched her look sadly down the hill towards Green Gables. “What is it?” He asked anxiously.

“But it’s not  _ our _ room, it’s your room. I suppose there will even only be a single bed and we’ll both have to sleep on our sides… what a shame, I usually sleep on my stomach,” she said with a sigh.

“Surely they’ve moved one of the double beds from the other rooms into mine-- into ours. If not, and you’re uncomfortable, I’ll sleep on the floor and Bash and I can switch the beds tomorrow.” Anne pursed her lips at this. “What could I do to make you feel comfortable here?” He grabbed hold of her hand and raised it to his lips. “What will make it feel like home?”

“Can my things be hung up on the walls?” She asked in a small voice. “I have lovely sketches that Cole drew for me, and feathers I’ve collected, and shells that I like to have laid out… and I’m fond of the old quilt that was on my bed! I know it has some pink flower patches on it, but could we use it? I ask, because I love you, but it seems so silly that a pink flower could be offensive to a man when they’re objectively very pretty.”

“Yes,” he told her. “Yes, you can have all of those things. And whatever else you want. You can bring anything into our room, or into our apartment in Toronto, you never have to ask--”

“So you found one?” She asked eagerly. “You found us a flat?”

“I did,” he said. “It’s on the second floor, only a block from campus, if you can believe it, and not far from a grocer. There’s a big bay window with a bench that we can put cushions on. I thought you’d love it for reading or bird watching… it looks out over a park! Or, it does a little bit, if you look down the road to the left.”

She stood on her toes and kissed him on the cheek. “You brilliant, wonderful boy! You have excellent taste, and if I ever say something to contradict that, remind me of this moment and I will surely reluctantly take it back!”

She took his breath away, it was as simple as that. Had he ever been more pleased with himself than in this moment, knowing that he’d secured a piece of domestic happiness for her? He had spent quite a long time on the train, when his thoughts were finally his own once more with the conclusion of his exams, thinking what it must have been like to be an orphaned child. Perhaps it could be likened to driftwood, going where the tides brought you with little control and no sense of stability. 

If his Anne had been driftwood, he hoped the seas had been gentle and the weather mild. But he knew from his time aboard the Primrose that the ocean was often merciless and, through certain seasons, storms came with great frequency. He remembered being thrown from his cot in the belly of the ship, of retching during the tumult of a hurricane, of praying for landfall. Had it been the same for her?

She didn’t speak of her childhood. He knew only of a “Mrs. Hammond” and “ever so many babies.” But he had eyes and he read between the lines, and what he saw was that Anne was grateful for Green Gables in the same way the men who inhabited the belly of that ship were worshipful of a safe harbor. 

He worked through this theory, step by agonizing step. Did Anne think that he was pulling her prematurely from her safe harbor, dragging her back to a raging ocean that would swallow her up and spit her back out, time and time again? Could she be convinced that “just up the coast,” at the Orchard, or their flat in Toronto, lay another perfectly sound harbor, with spaces that he had lovingly carved out just for her?

Could she be reminded, or perhaps finally taught, through what other couples may call “sweet nothings” (but which stood to hold so much weight in their own marriage) that she was loved and that she was always safe with him?

He could picture it now, perhaps a half hour in their future, her lying in his bed in her flannel nightgown, her back to his front, her knuckles white from holding tight to his hand. And he would say it. 

“I love you, Anne,” he would say. “You’re safe here. You’re safe with me,” he would tell her. 

And perhaps he’d lean down to kiss her shoulder, and maybe he’d put a hand through her hair and scratch at the back of her head in the way that she liked. And then she may loosen her grip on his hand and he would run a thumb in circles along her palm. 

And perhaps a tear would fall, but it wouldn’t be from that silly poem, and he would draw her closer still and say it all one more time.

And then, mercifully, he would feel her nod her head in agreement of the facts he had so calmly presented, and then she would blow out the candle on the bedside table and roll to face her husband, their eyes adjusting to the new darkness, and she would seek out his hand and let her nose rub against his in place of a kiss.

So, in darkness, if he was very lucky, she would allow him to pull the nightgown over her head. She would press closer to his body, in her shyness she may say she did it because she longed for warmth, but in this imagining (which was his alone), he knew that she longed for him in the same way he longed for her…

Then there was that memory, from the single time before. It was both so vivid and endlessly murky, in some moments amplified somewhere within him, at others blotted away like a stain: it just depended on what sort of pain he was in.

When that horrendous telegram arrived, opening a nightmare he didn’t know himself capable of enduring, some part of his mind pushed the memory of the morning he had made love to her from his mind. Gilbert, after all, was no cad. He hadn’t taken all of those risks-- hiding her in a Toronto hotel room, being intimate with her, eloping-- in the name of thrill alone. He  _ loved  _ her. He knew that his love and fondness emanated out of him like a being possessed. But he never cared, never hesitated to wear his heart on his sleeve or a ring on his finger, to give all of himself to this woman, this girl, whatever his Anne was. 

And what had it got him? Just that horrendous telegram….

But Gilbert was more generous than that, and so he reminded himself that she was scared. Wasn’t he always hearing contrived sayings about fear? “Fear is a powerful thing,” they’d say. And who was he to disagree?

It would all bring him back to his driftwood theory. 

He opened the front door of their home. Mary and Bash waited for them inside. Soon, Anne was being ushered to the linen closet to help find bedding and Gilbert was being directed to help Bash bring their trunks upstairs. 

As she loaded Anne’s arms with folded pillow cases, Mary carefully arranged her face to a neutral expression before clearing her throat.

“I hear you were on a train about an hour after your wedding ceremony,” Mary said casually.

“That’s true,” came Anne’s quiet reply, nervous about where the conversation was headed. She watched Mary close her eyes for a moment and take a deep, steadying breath.

“Do you have any questions?”

“About what?”

“About what married people do when they're alone at night.”

“Oh,” said Anne, understanding coming to her suddenly and coloring her cheeks. Had Gilbert truly told Bash what they’d done before the wedding? Had Bash told Mary?

And  _ did  _ she have any questions? It had only been the once, after all, months ago… Some days she hardly remembered it.

“Does it hurt each time?” This was something that had troubled Anne. She hadn’t known that there would be pain, and some days, when her fear got the best of her, the sting and the uncomfortable sensation of tightness was all she could remember from their most intimate moment. But there were other times that when she would remember that, towards the end, she had enjoyed herself. Remembering that fact was like finding a four-leaf clover, or the first dandelion of spring: it never failed to bring a smile to her face.

But for the life of her, she couldn’t remember what it actually felt like! So blinded was she by her own anxiety. 

Mary gave a sympathetic smile. “Not each time, but for a little while, until your body is used to it.”

Anne nodded solemnly. This news did not set her at ease. 

“Any other questions?” Mary prompted. “Any at all?”

Anne searched deep within herself. “What do you think happens… if I can’t be what Gilbert-- or, what happens if a wife can’t be what her husband wants?” She tried to distance herself from the question, to make ambiguous her insecurities. 

Mary saw through this and put a comforting hand on her back. “Well, you have the good fortune of him not knowing any better,” she said with a chuckle. “Who has he loved besides you? It’s been ‘Anne, Anne, Anne’ since the moment I met that boy. When I think about it, you’re  _ very  _ lucky. Some men come off those ships with a string of lovers under their belts, a girl in each port--”

“What?” But it sounded like someone else’s voice. She had never, not in her wildest, most outlandish, most detailed and devastating imaginings considered the possibility that Gilbert had been…

She couldn’t even think the words to herself. They turned her stomach and made the muscles in her throat clench.

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Mary said dismissively.

“But how do you know he didn’t, that he hasn’t, that there wasn’t--” Her voice was breathy and anxious.

“I just do,” said Mary, pulling the girl in for a hug. 

Anne tried to compose herself. She allowed Mary to load her arms with more bedding and then began her march upstairs to her new bedroom.

Gilbert offered to make the bed and invited Anne to unpack her shells and display them however she liked. Wordlessly, Anne nodded and set to the task.

Gilbert stretched her pink quilt across the double bed and added an extra pillow to what he imagined to be Anne’s side.

Fully dressed, she allowed herself to lounge on the bed, crossing her legs at the ankle and propping herself up on her elbows, inspecting her nails. 

“So do you know any sea shanties?” She asked him casually.

Gilbert’s brows knitted together, rather confused by his wife’s bizarre inquiry. Was this her way of flirting?

“No, I can’t say I do…”

“Oh, I just wonder what it is men on ships learn, what they  _ do _ …”

“Well, I can tell you what I did,” he told her as he removed his shoes. “I shovelled coal and I spent time with Bash.”

“But what about when you were at port? What is it shipmen do in their free time?”

“Again, I can only speak for me, and I just spent time with Bash.”

She wasn’t liking where this was going. She felt in her bones that there was something scandalous to uncover. “Yes, but what were the ladies like in those exotic ports? Surely they must have seemed even more beautiful after weeks deprived of the feminine form while you were at sea.”

He laughed softly at this and cupped her cheek with his hand. “I wasn’t paying attention,” he said quietly. 

“But you’re a man! You have eyes! And I hear that sailors are dreadfully behaved, but no one has ever told me in what way! Mary says some have a lady in every port--”

“I do not have a lady in any port,” he said seriously. “I’ve told you: I’m exactly as experienced with these things as you are.”

Anne hated the anticlimax of it all. She sank forlornly into the pillows. 

“You like to pick fights, you angry girl,” he said playfully, climbing fully clothed into the bed beside her. “You’re upset because you have nothing to be upset about.” She huffed in response. “Should we get ready for bed before you think of anything else to be angry about?”

With a few more huffs and many more puffs, Anne began to remove layer after layer of clothing, not even remembering to be self conscious.

Gilbert, on the other hand, couldn’t remember how to unbutton his shirt, so fascinated was he in watching Anne strip. Had there always been so many petticoats? One after another he watched them fall to the ground until she stood before him in only her corset and chemise. 

He had never watched this part before and it was quickly becoming his favorite. He stared, wide eyed, as Anne undid the clasps of her corset, her flesh slowly taking on its own natural shape, bit by bit. 

When the last clasp had come undone, he finally breathed. He watched her get down on her hands and knees and felt his groin twitch as this image, imagining for a moment what it would be like to look down and see beautiful auburn hair, the warmth of her mouth wrapped around him, her gray eyes glancing up to meet his--

He had to look away as she dug through her trunk. Sometimes it seemed positively criminal that he could think about Anne in any way he wanted, as often as he wanted and she would never even know.

He’d heard of intimate relations being described as a girl losing her innocence, but he could see immediately how that didn’t hold true with Anne. She still smiled when she found a feather, still sang the same tunes from childhood, still loved the same tragical romances. This sweetness made him feel all the more guilty for his lust, especially when he imagined her doing something she had never before consented to.

He hoped the feeling would ease with time. 

While he was looking away, she had changed into her nightgown and risen from the floor, a crooked smile playing on her features.

“You haven’t gotten ready for bed at all!” She accused, stepping closer to him. 

Before he could reply, a loud bang sounded from somewhere in the house, making them both jump. Then there was the sound of bed springs coming from another room, and the sounds of glasses being placed noisily on a wooden surface.

Gilbert stuck his head out the bedroom door. “All right, Bash, I get it!” He called loudly into the hallway.

“What was that about?” Anne asked.

“Don’t worry about it,” was his quick reply.

“Was that Bash making those noises? On purpose?”

“Yes,” he said with the roll of his eyes.

“Why?”

Gilbert bit his lip, unsure if he should share. “To remind me that the walls are thin,” he said finally. 

Anne met this admission with a deep blush. 

“You don’t have to worry about it, though, Anne,” he explained. “I got him to promise to only tease me.”

“I don’t want him to tease you!” Anne cried. “And I don’t want anyone to  _ hear _ ! Perhaps we should wait until we’re in Toronto.”

Gilbert’s eyes went wide at this suggestion and his mind struggled for an appropriate response. Somehow, he knew he would feel like a brute if he said what he really felt, which was something along the lines of: “Please, for the love of God, no!”

Instead, he did his best to craft a logical counterargument. 

“When Bash and Mary got married, I really couldn’t even hear them…. Just a bit. Besides: we wouldn’t be doing anything they haven’t already done.”

Anne groaned at this. “I can’t,” she said simply. “It would be far too mortifying to face them at breakfast.”

He pursed his lips, knowing  _ he  _ wouldn’t be able to face  _ himself  _ at breakfast if he pushed the matter any further…. But he so desperately wanted to, that much was certain.

So he nodded his ascent and secretly began to imagine reasons why they may have to dash off to Toronto before the year was out. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! 
> 
> Honestly I'm feeling some feelings for Gilbert in this chapter... always so close, but no cigar lol.
> 
> Anyway, the poem is "Annabel Lee" by Edgar Allen Poe, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter!


	8. Chapter 8

Anne stood in the center of her Toronto apartment. Their rooms faced east, back home to Prince Edward Island, but she stepped through the entryway for the first time in early evening. In shadow, the place gave the impression of a skeleton, all bones and structure with nothing inside, hollow as the oldest apple tree at the Orchard which had long ago given its last fruit. 

She stepped further inside while her husband handled their luggage. In the singular bedroom there was a bed, or perhaps something more akin to a sack laid out across a frame, without any pillows or quilts. A chest of drawers sat opposite, while a full length mirror stood propped in a corner. Anne walked over to it. Her reflection was muddied. She ran a finger across the glass, a thick layer of dust coming away and settling on her finger tip. Anne could now see the grey of her eye among the grey of this room.

She went back to the main parlor. Gilbert had been right: there was a bench fixed into the large bay window. There was a sofa with a spring exposed. The rest of the apartment was bizarre, built as though whoever would be occupying this space would demand compartmentalization. There was a small dining room, barely big enough for a table and four chairs. Through yet another door she found the kitchen, a room which frightened her. She bent down to inspect the stove. She opened the small door of the appliance to see what sort of shape it was in, coughing as dust shifted. It was nothing like the one she was used to at Green Gables, and Anne had doubts that it was even serviceable. 

She put her worries aside a moment longer, rising again to inspect the last room. Through the final door was a pantry-sized room with no window, inside which was a single moth-eaten cot. She turned from that space soon after, reminded of something she couldn’t bring herself to name. 

Too late to buy candles, Gilbert and Anne Blythe carefully unfolded the half-finished sheets from the trunk, partially embroidered by the women who served as something resembling mothers. 

After the long journey west, Gilbert slept soundly while Anne lay awake, considering how they could ever make this place livable on their scholarship money and Gilbert’s share from the farm…

Come to think of it, she had no idea how much money they had at their disposal. The bank account was in Gilbert’s name, and he had never shared with her the details of Granddad’s monetary transfers. She had no idea how the produce from his orchard and his farm had fared. In her own purse, she had perhaps enough money for a one way trip to Halifax and a simple lunch. 

She looked to her sleeping husband and resolved to speak with him in the morning. She wondered, briefly, if he kept this information from her for a reason. She falls asleep and dreams of brooms and mops and matches meant to light fires that won’t catch.

The next morning she’s up early, fiddling with the stove. She coughs as old coal dusted is shifted. Her husband found her soon after, her face sooty.

“Come on,” he said cheerfully. “We’ll go forage for our breakfast.”

After washing up, they walked to a bakery down the street. Each step Gilbert Blythe took was filled with elation: he was here with his wife. They had their own apartment, away from the prying eyes of their families and harsh words of their community. They were both enrolled at the University with enough money to pay for it all. What more could he ask for? What could possibly pull him down for this high?

“Gilbert: how are we going to live in that apartment?”

There it was. 

“Well I think we’ll live there very happily, it just needs a little bit of care.”

“The stove doesn’t work, and that’s the only source of heat. Weren’t you freezing last night?” She questioned.

With a wicked grin he pulled her into his side. “How could I be cold when I have you in my bed, wife?”

“Oh, you’re terrible!  _ I  _ was cold. And even if the stove is repaired, Gilbert, how are we going to manage? It’ll take over an hour to prepare a kettle for tea with that sort of stove, how are we supposed to cook with it if we’re both students? Gilbert, we can’t live off of muffins. And I was also thinking about our laundry. When Marilla does laundry at Green Gables, it takes all day. How are we going to maintain a household all by ourselves? This is why students live in boarding houses! These little things are all handled for them, and now we’re on our own. I’m on my own, supposed to be a student and a housewife--”

  
  


“Well,” Gilbert interrupted, eager to put a stop before her tirade dampened his good mood even further. “We can send our laundry out, that will be simple enough--”

“And cooking? And all the other chores?” She urged. 

“Well there’s that alcove off the kitchen, we could always hire a maid--”

“We could  _ what _ ?”

“We could hire a maid of all work. I’m sure that would make things significantly easier on us.” He was careful to include himself in this statement, a quiet rebuttal to Anne’s insistence that it would be her job to keep them comfortable. 

“We could afford something like that?”

“Granddad told me to. He said professional people need help, and since we’re training to be professionals, it’s only natural we would need an extra set of hands.”

Anne bit her lip, but said no more. She had never considered the idea that someday she would employ servants, and certainly not so young as she was. Was it just three years ago that she was in service herself? And now they would take on another young girl to fix what it was that they broke, to clean their messes. Something about the whole thing made her stomach twist, but she kept it to herself, knowing that there was no way she could manage alone.

In the evening, they dined at the Oaks’. Mr. Oak was the owner of a large firm, though he easily brushed off any questions about his work, directing them instead to his wife. His pride for her was remarkable, but Anne wondered what he knew. Did he think Emily Oak was merely a lecturer and researcher? Did he think Gilbert assisted her in the lab? Or did he know that the two walked through the poor neighborhoods or Toronto distributing information about contraceptives? Anne wasn’t even sure  _ she  _ knew the half of it. 

They were served by two maids in black dresses and neat white aprons. 

“Mae,” Dr. Oak said at the end of the meal. “Please tell Mrs. Abernathy that she truly outdid herself. It was delicious.” 

“Yes, ma’am,” was Mae’s response. 

Anne asked to speak privately with Dr. Oak a moment before she and Gilbert left. 

“I want to have the surgery,” she told the doctor. “The one you told me about in October.”

“All right,” Dr. Oak agreed. “We should do it soon, before the term begins. You won’t be feeling quite yourself for a day of two afterwards. And there should be no intimacy for a day.”

“Well, that’s not a problem, since there’s no intimacy now. I’ve been too nervous. I’m afraid that I’ll misuse the sponge you gave me, and everything will have been for nothing.” Anne knew, even then, that she was oversharing. But who did she have, in that big new city, to speak with? 

Dr. Oak laid a hand on Anne’s shoulder. “Well it’s hardly worth doing when nervous or afraid,” she said.

The next morning Anne paid to have an ad put in the newspaper and in the afternoon she went to Dr. Oak and the procedure was performed. 

It was now the start of term. Anne had slept poorly, filled with excitement and nerves. Gilbert had let her sleep in, making their breakfast and vaguely wondering how long the celibacy would have to last after Anne’s procedure, as it had been a week. He himself was young and eager as ever, but above all patient. Still, he found himself thinking fondly about that one, single time, months ago…

Their landlord had repaired the stove, but Anne had been right: it could be used only when one had an abundance of time and energy. 

He brought Anne bread with butter and fruit. He placed the plate on the bedside table. The day he’d spent apprenticing with Dr. Oak, and had worked herself to the bone, cleaning the apartment and making it liveable. He leaned down to place a kiss on his wife’s forehead to wake her up.

Her eyes blinked open and he smiled. “Happy first day of university,” he told her. “I’ve got something for you. He walked to their chest of drawers and pulled out a parcel, handing it to her to open.

In a moment, she held a deep blue bow tie in her hands. 

“I just wanted this to be a reminder,” he said. “That you’re here to be a student, and you’re here as my partner. I’m grateful for all the work you’ve put into this place, but I want to make sure I’m clear when I say I don’t think that cleaning up for me and doing my laundry for me is your job.”

Anne nodded her head slowly. “I got a response to the ad,” she told him. I’m interviewing a girl today at two.”

“I’ll be in class,” he told her. “But I trust your judgement. Now let’s get ready, I can’t wait to show off my brilliant wife. Am I allowed to walk you to class?”

The two got dressed, fussing over the other’s tie with playful slaps and kisses. He left her at the doors of a large lecture hall. She took her seat in a middle row. The lecturer began to call roll. Still tired, she allowed her mind to rest until they’d reached “S.” 

“Baker? Howard Baker? Yes, good. Benson? How do you do, young man... Blythe? Is Blythe here? Blythe? Final call, Anne Blythe--”

“Oh, so sorry-- present, I mean!” 

The professor gave her a sceptical look. “Perhaps we’ll all remember our names a bit quicker, hmm?” He looked over his glasses at her and the class.

Anne blushed at the reprimand. “Sorry, it’s still relatively new,” she said. “I was waiting for my maiden name.”

With a “hmphh,” the elderly lecturer continued down the roll. 

She took notes on his lecture, jotted down the further reading he recommended, but she didn’t speak up again that day. 

She waved to Ralph from across the green and hurried home. She’d hoped to have tea ready for the girl she was interviewing, hoped to give her something warm to eat, but with five minutes left before the appointment, the water had yet to boil.

A knock on the door pulled Anne away from her efforts. Suddenly nervous, she smoothed her skirt and straightened her bow tie before answering the door. 

A young girl several inches shorter than Anne with hair the color of a wheatfield stepped through the doorway. She wore a skirt that was too long for her, bunching on the hardwood floor.

Anne offered her hand out to shake. “I’m Anne Blythe,” she said. “Welcome to my home.”

The girl looked around, raising an eyebrow. “Your home?” The girl questioned, her Irish accent prominent. 

“Well,” Anne said, directing the girl to the parlor to sit. “Mine and my husband’s.” She saw the girls eyes go wide at this. “He’s a nice man,” Anne reassured. “He’s studying to be a doctor.”

“You’re young. Is Dr. Blythe young, too?”

Anne blinked. “Well, yes. Mr. Blythe is rather young. But so are you. How old are you?”

“Fourteen,” the girl said smoothly. She looked closer to twelve.

“Are you sure?” Anne pressed.

“I am, ma’am.”

“And your name’s Mary?”

“Oh, well, technically it is, ma’am, but so are my sisters. We all use our second names. Mine’s Agnes.”

“Agnes,” Anne said with a smile. “What sort of experience do you have, Agnes?”

“I worked in a gentleman’s house before this, on Saint James Road,” she explained. “Before that I helped Mam in Galway with the household chores and with the younger children, so if you and Dr. Blythe’ll be having a babe I’ll be plenty useful, ma’am.” The girl stared resolutely at Anne.

Anne looked to the floor in embarrassment. “Oh, no. I’m a student as well, so we’ll… well, it’s not the time for babies.”

Agnes gave her a sceptical look. “If you say so, ma’am.”

“Would you like to see your room?” Anne asked enthusiastically. Agnes gave a solemn nod and rose to follow Anne. They opened the door to the alcove. “If you choose to come, we can decorate however you like, really make it something!” 

Agnes pursed her lips. “And Dr. Blythe, ma’am, what sort of hours does he keep?”

“Gil-- Mr. Blythe? Well, he’s very busy with his studies, and during the last term, he was fond of studying in the library. It may be different since I’m here now. He’s also apprenticing with one of his professors, which takes up a significant piece of his time,” Anne explained.

The girl looked away as she asked her next question. “Is it likely that it will be us two alone while you’re out, ma’am?”

Anne looked the girl over, a knot forming in her stomach. “No, I would say that’s not something that would happen very often at all…”

Agnes ended up agreeing to come work for the young couple. She moved in the next day and began her duties with a greater diligence than Anne could have expected, but there were things that set Anne on edge, and as the weeks progressed, so much would prove to be so very, very wrong. 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everyone,
> 
> I know it's been a hot second since I updated. I haven't forgotten about this story, but was going back and forth with myself over how much Drama (TM) I would include.
> 
> The answer is all of it.
> 
> Best,  
> S


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: this chapter focuses heavily on miscarriage and implies childhood sexual abuse. Please read with caution.

_ Amazing _ , Gilbert thought.  _ Coffee. _

He walked into his dining room to find a fresh pot of coffee as well as fried eggs. He took a seat at the table and began to help himself as the kitchen door swung open. 

“Good morning, Agnes,” he said cheerfully while the blood drained from the child’s face. “I can take that,” he says, gesturing to the plate piled high with food. “Have you eaten your breakfast?” She gave a minute shake of her head. “Well, you can go on. Mrs. Blythe and I will be fine. Go on,” he encouraged.

Without turning she backed out of the room, back into the kitchen. 

His wife emerged from the bedroom, then, taking her seat at the table. “Where’s Agnes?” She asked.

Gilbert chuckled. “I don’t think she likes me very much,” he told her. “She’s like a doe at the end of a rifle. She left as soon as she could.”

“Maybe she just has a crush on the  _ handsome young doctor, _ ” Anne said, leaning in conspiratorially. The couple laughed and enjoyed their meal. 

The rest of the day, a Friday, passed easily and in the evening the two Blythes joined the other medical students at the usual tavern. Giddy, they stumbled home late, placing affectionate kissings across the other’s exposed skin as soon as they were in the empty hallways of their building. Anne turned her key in the lock, loudly hushing her husband as they entered their apartment, footsteps unintentionally heavy as they walked towards their room.

Wonderfully lightheaded, Gilbert put a hand on his wife’s waist, pulling her down with him onto the bed, both still fully dressed. He smiled widely, bringing her still closer so he could reach her lips, hand reaching around her to find the buttons of her dress. She pulled away from his kiss.

“We can’t do this,” she giggled. “Agnes is right there!”

“We’re hardly the first couple to be intimate with a maid in the house.”

Anne fixed her face into a serious expression. “Well I don’t feel comfortable.”

He propped himself up on his elbows. “I don’t understand,” he told her. “We haven’t… not once. It’s been months. Do you not like me?”

“No, it’s-”

“Are you not attracted to me?”

“Oh, Gilbert, no: you’re a beautiful man--”

“Then why?” He questioned, staring intently at her.

In truth, she longed to feel the same thing she had that night in Halifax, to replicate that beautiful moment, to feel closer to him than she felt even to herself, to be completely, indelibly happy and brimming with trust and love. It just hadn’t happened since, perhaps not even the day they had known each other fully. 

But she couldn’t say that. It would hurt him to know that was her reality, and she  _ loved  _ Gilbert. 

With no answer, Gilbert rolled over, his back to his wife.

Anne woke early the next morning, head pounding and stomach churning. She walked clumsily to the bathroom and was surprised to find the door locked.

She banged once on the door. “Agnes? Agnes, I’m going to be sick. Can I come in?”

When she got no response, Anne placed her ear to the door. She heard retching. 

Her own sickness forgotten, Anne stepped back. “Are you all right?” She called instead. “Do you have the flu?”

“I think so, ma’am,” came a weak voice. A few minutes later and the girl emerged. Anne put a hand to the back of her head and felt no fever. Still, she sent Agnes straight to bed. 

By early afternoon, Agnes was emerging from her room, feeling significantly better. 

“Maybe it was something you ate,” Anne suggested and the girl agreed. 

This sickness, which was always gone by afternoon, emerged as a pattern over the next couple of weeks. Agnes was allowed time to rest when the illness overcame her but was diligent as ever during the second half of the day.

Gilbert arrived home one afternoon after class to find a note from Anne explaining she’d gone to the library to find a book for class. 

“Agnes?” He called out. A few moments later, the girl showed herself in the doorway but came no further. “Could I please have some tea?” He asked her. With a nod, she disappeared again. 

A few minutes later and the girl was entering the parlor. She carried a tray with a teacup and saucer. Gilbert saw how her hands shook. He was unsurprised when she dropped the tray, the china shattering around her feet. He rose quickly, coming to assist her with the sharp pieces.

She wrapped her arms tightly around herself as he kneeled over her.

“Please, sir, no!” She practically yelled. 

Immediately Gilbert stood, backing away from her. Still shaking, he watched her pick up the mess and then stand, neck bent, eyes on the floor.

“Begging your pardon, sir,” she told him, leaving the room after a moment’s silence. 

Late that night, when he thought Agnes was certainly asleep, he whispered harshly to Anne: “That girl is terrified of me!”

“Why do you say that?” And so he explained the episode from earlier. 

“She’s not happy here,” he told his wife. “We’re not doing her a kindness by keeping her somewhere she’s frightened of.” Anne sat on the edge of her bed, her head in her hands. “What?” He questioned. “What do you know that I don’t?”

She took a deep breath. “I think she’s with child.” Gilbert sat down beside his wife. “She’s been sick every morning for the past two weeks.”

“She can’t be,” Gilbert said quietly. “She’s so small. It would kill her.”

“I asked her, in confidence, if she’s ever bled. She says she hasn’t.”

“Dr. Oak says young girls can sometimes fall pregnant before they’ve ever started their monthly.”

They sat quietly for a moment, lost in their own thoughts.

It was Gilbert who asked: “What do we do?”

Ashamed of her pragmatism at a time like this, Anne closed her eyes. “People will think it’s yours, Gilbert.”

“It’s  _ not  _ mine,” he said forcefully, taking Anne’s hands in his. “It’s not.”

“I know that,” she assured. “Of course I know that. You couldn’t hurt a fly.”

It was then that they heard a loud groan. They looked at one another a moment and then stood, headed towards the alcove in the kitchen. 

Agnes was curled in the fetal position in her bed, face twisted in pain. Anne knelt beside the girl.

“Agnes,” she said softly. “What’s wrong? Does your stomach hurt?”

The girl nodded her head. Anne pulled the blankets away from the girl, revealing blood stains on her night dress and sheets. Anne looked to her husband, asking for an explanation.

“We’ll be right back, Agnes,” Gilbert said, motioning for Anne to follow him out of her room and into the kitchen. Anne looked at him expectantly. “I don’t know,” he told her. “It could be her monthly--”

“Why would she be feeling so much discomfort? That’s not normal.”

“I think it’s more likely she lost it. Or is losing it.” Agnes groaned once more. “She needs to see a doctor,” Gilbert said, distress evident in his voice. “I don’t know enough yet to help her.”

Anne ran a finger over his hand. “You help by getting her where she needs to be.” 

Gilbert left to get his and Anne’s coats, while Anne found rags to be put under Agnes’ petticoats. She helped the girl dress. When Gilbert came back, he wrapped his own scarf around Agnes’ neck. 

The streets empty at such a late hour, the two Blythes made their way to Dr. Oak’s, Agnes supported between them. Gilbert knocked loudly at the door.

Mr. and Dr. Oak soon answered, still dressed in their night clothes. 

“Gilbert,” Dr. Oak breathed.

“It’s our maid, Agnes,” he told her anxiously. “She’s-- well, I think she’s losing her baby.”

Dr. Oak’s eyes fell on the girl. “Right,” she said. “Well, come in, dearest. We’ll get you right as rain.”

The doctor led Agnes to her parlor and then examined her as she laid on the couch. Subtly, she directed Gilbert and Mr. Oak out of Agnes line of sight. 

“Right, Agnes?” Dr. Oak asked. The girl nodded her head. “How long have you been feeling poorly, my girl?”

“Three weeks,” was Agnes’ quiet reply.

“Quite sick in the mornings, hmm?” The girl nodded her head. “How old are you, sweet one?”

“Twelve.”

Gilbert closed his eyes, disgusted by the implications of this news. 

“She told me she was fourteen,” his wife whispered to him. He found her hand and clung to it. 

“And now your stomach hurts rather a lot?” Again, Agnes nodded. 

“Am I going to die?” She said quietly. 

“Oh, certainly not,” Dr. Oak reassured. “Didn’t you hear me earlier? I said you’d be right as rain. Now I know there’s been a bit of blood, when did that start? When did you notice?”

“After I cleared away Dr. and Mrs. Blythe’s dinner.”

Dr. Oak looked to Gilbert. “Eight,” he mouthed.

“So about four hours ago? It will likely only be a few hours more. I know it seems terribly unfair, when you’re hurting so, for me to say it, but all there is to do right now is wait. And I will sit up with you the whole while. Perhaps I can read to you?”

Once more the girl nodded and Dr. Oak rose, presumably to find a book. Instead she walked over to the Blythes. 

“Aren’t you going to ask her who did this to her?” Gilbert questioned. Anne squeezed his hand. 

Dr. Oak gave a sad smile. “It’s no use. Nothing will come of it for her, it would only force her to relive it.”

“So we pretend it’s an immaculate conception?” Gilbert said, his voice rising. 

“We certainly do not!” Dr. Oak rebutted. “But we remember, us three, that we are fortunate to live lives of privilege, where we are respected as worthy, upstanding members of the community when we walk into a room. And we set ourselves out to recall that a young Irish maid is not often afforded the same luxury!”

Anne saw how the line of Gilbert’s jaw hardened. “Gilbert,” she said quietly, tugging on his hand. “She’s so young, she may not even understand what happened to her. I wouldn’t have…”

He looked at Anne, studying her face. “You were in service,” he said suddenly, an unasked question hanging in the air.

“I was,” Anne agreed. 

He looked at her a moment longer before turning back to his professor. “Are you sure you want to sit with her for the night?”

“Oh, yes,” she said simply. “Very sure. And you two can be off, I mean it. She’ll be just fine.”

They walked home hand in hand, neither saying anything. 

Anne stood in front of the mirror as she took the pins out of her hair. Soon, Gilbert took his place behind her, removing piece after piece. Their eyes met in the reflection.

“It never happened to me,” Anne said quietly. Gilbert nodded, the last tendril of hair falling. 

He wrapped his arms around Anne, resting his head on her shoulder, turning his gaze away.

“We’ll be all right,” she told him, patting his hands which linked together at her stomach. He turned his head towards her neck, placing a kiss on the soft skin there, his eyes closed.

“You’re my best friend,” he said softly. She felt tears come to her eyes at this.

“You’re my best friend,” she echoed. 

He buried his face deeper into her neck and she reached a hand up, tangling her fingers in his curls, her other hand gently pulling at his fingers, encouraging him to release her from the embrace.

She turned to face him, looking up at him, at her husband. “You’re a good man,” she told him. He nodded softly, as though he didn’t truly accept this praise. She placed a hand on his cheek and then stood on her toes.

When their lips met, it occurred to Anne that there would never be another moment like Halifax. Instead, her life with this man would be composed of new moments with different stakes. She remembered hearing once, from a pastor in Nova Scotia, that when people pray to God for patience, He gives them opportunities to be patient. She wondered if it was quite the same with love: you hope for moments of tenderness and passion, and are given moments where you can build such sentiments. 

She kissed him with abandon. It felt as though it lasted a minute, or perhaps a year. She let his hands wander across her body, to the buttons at the neck of her blouse, to the hook and eye closure on her skirt. 

She let them wander. 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello,
> 
> Just a warning, this chapter is almost entirely comprised of fumbling second-time-ever sex, so please keep that in mind when making your choice whether to read it.

He wasn’t sure how they’d gotten here. Had he really memorized the buttons on her blouse, waiting for the day when she’d allow him to undress her again? He didn’t need to look, his hands counting for him:  _ one, two, three, four _ before the hem would tuck neatly into the gray wool of her skirt. 

But, how? How was this happening? The question rattled around in his head, over and over again. And why hadn’t it happened before? It was all very confusing for Gilbert. 

He remembered how he’d reach out for her as they laid in their bed at night. She’d let him have a hand, she’d tangle an ankle with his. Then she’d close her eyes and even her breathing, and it was clear to him then: that was that. 

He’d wake up the next morning and press the front of his body to the back of her’s, wrapping an arm around her. She’d wake up and look over her shoulder, a gentle smile on her face. She’d squeeze his hand, and he’d reach the other to the soft flesh of her breast, kneading it through the worn fabric of her nightgown. She always let him continue like that for a minute or so, sometimes even squeezing his other hand once more, as though she were enjoying herself. Then he’d press himself against her backside and pull her still closer to him. And at that moment, when there could be no uncertainty about what it was he wanted, she would invariably disentangle herself from his embrace and rise from the bed, never saying a word. 

And he would lay there, aching for her. 

_ But not tonight, Blythe! _ He thought triumphantly. 

Soon enough he was tugging at petticoats, untying the corset cover, pulling roughly at the corset itself…

_ Were there always this many layers?  _ He thought idly as Anne sat down to untie her boots. 

She tugged off her own drawers while still sitting, and with that any semblance of sense he’d had left dissipated. With her bare foot, she tapped his shin, an auburn eyebrow quirked.

“Aren’t you going to take that off?” She asked, looking him over.

“What?” He asked, emerging from his daze.

“All of it, it has to come off,” she laughed. 

He nodded fervently to show his understanding and began tugging on his own clothes. She smirked. 

“Here,” she said. “I’ll do it.”

His hands fell eagerly down to his sides, all too ready to let her take the lead on this. 

A seductress. A seraph, an angel of divine fire.

_ “Anne,”  _ he groaned. She looked up to him, a neutral expression on her face.

“What is it?” She asked him.

What was it? “You know that I want this? I want it every night,” he told her. “Don’t… don’t do this with me and then  _ not  _ for months. I want a  _ full marriage _ . I couldn’t handle it if you pulled back again. Please, don’t.”

She nodded her head with a single blink. “I won’t,” she said. “I see now… yes, I see. I was so lost and upset that things were shifted out of order and all of my energy went to trying to reassemble them. I wanted to set everything right, to put everything in the correct order as best I could. But things aren’t so mixed up, are they? What have we done that’s so dreadful? What more can we do beyond apologize to our families for upsetting them? I was so confused... I completely forgot that I have a good life. We can make wonderful moments at any point.”

“So you’ve kept us celibate because we did things out of order?” He asked sceptically.

“Yes… I mean, I don’t really understand, but yes. And no matter what, I won’t do that to you.”

He looked into her eyes, inspected her face, looking for self-doubt.

“All right,” he finally said. “I believe you.”

“All right, then,” she said. She was amazed to find that none of it was flooding back to her memory. What should her hands do? What should  _ his  _ be doing? Suddenly she wished she hadn’t waited so long…

She decided to take off the last of her clothing. In a moment, her chemise was on the floor. For a time, she stood before him, naked, waiting for some sort of response to her brazen move.

He let out a raspy breath. “What am I allowed to do?”

“Whatever you want.”

He wasted no time in laying her down on the bed and stripping himself of his underwear. She found his eagerness endearing, but how did she get to a place where she  _ needed _ him? To that place she’d been in October, where she was begging him for  _ more  _ despite the obvious risk?

She reached out a hand, wrapping it around him.

“Touch me,” she told him.

Honestly, with her hand wrapped around him, there wasn’t a thought in his head. Her voice was his only thought and so he did what she said. His hand found her opening, found the part of her that was soft and wet and warm. His fingers found their way in--

“No, no, no, no, no,” she said suddenly, retreating further up the bed. “We’ve only done this once before. My body’s not used to that. You can’t go so fast.”

“I’m sorry,” he told her, clearly shaken. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you--”

She put a hand on his chest. “It’s all right,” she said. “Just… slow. Please.”

Still a bit rattled, Gilbert began again, this time much gentler. He watched her face carefully for any signs of discomfort. Her eyes had fluttered shut, her chin tipped back slightly. He noticed how she gripped a pillow in one hand, the quilt in another. He watched her lips press into a tight line.

“You can make noise, if you want,” he told her quietly. “I’m the only one who will hear.”

Her eyes opened and a pink blush came to her cheeks. She let go of the quilt and silently gestured for him to settle himself on top of her. Her face found the crook of his neck. 

“Gil,” she moaned, her hot breath tickling the sensitive skin underneath his jaw. He could have come then, just from the sound of his name alone. 

“Let me look at you,” he said, pulling away from her. He watched her eyes close and her breath catch as he moved his fingers inside of her. “Do you like that?”

“Yes,” she breathed.

He leaned back down to whisper in her ear. “Let me do this for you everyday.”

“All right,” she said. “Yes, all right.” Suddenly her hand let go of the pillow and moved to find him again, but he stilled it with his own.

“Don’t,” he told her. “I want to last.”

“There’ll be other nights--”

“I’m not thinking about that right now,” he told her. “I’m just thinking about you and I’m thinking about  _ tonight. _ ”

She nodded again and let her body fall heavily into the pillows. He began to place kisses anywhere he could reach: her bent knee, the inside of her thigh, her clenched fist.

“You’re magnificent,” he told her. “You beautiful, beautiful woman.”

“Come here,” she commanded. 

He leaned down, as though he anticipated she would tell him a secret. “What is it?”

“No,” her voice rasped out. She spread her legs further apart. “Come  _ here _ .”

_ Oh.  _

He settled himself between her thighs, never forgetting her instruction to go slow. As he slid gently into her, he felt immediate relief, like he could let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. They moved together, cautious, unsure where their limits were. 

“Do you think the woman can go on top?” She asked him suddenly. “Is that possible?”

Did she think he had some sort of otherworldly self control? “Yes,” he muttered. He pulled out of her. A bit self conscious, he laid on his back. She positioned herself, clumsy at first, to straddle his hips. He felt her sink quickly onto him.

“Oh,” she murmured. “Oh.”

“What?” He asked, anxious that somehow he’d done wrong, even like this. 

“I can feel  _ all  _ of you,” she told him quietly. “It’s incredible.” In little jerking motions, she began to move back and forth. Eventually she found a rhythm, little moans and sighs escaping her lips.

“Are you close?” He asked, voice strained.

“Yes…”

“I’m so close…”

He watched her closely, waited for her to fall limp onto his chest before he let himself go. Rather proud of his self control, he wrapped his arms around his wife, who lay sprawled across his chest. 

Eventually, she rolled over onto the bed and took hold of his hand. They stayed like that, bathed in companionable silence, for some time.

“Gilbert?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you love me?” She looked over to her and found she was already staring intently at him.

“Yes,” he told her simply. “Do you love me?”

“Yes,” she replied.

“Is it enough?” He wondered. 

She gave him a kiss.

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I... did I just finish this story? I'm not 100% sure. It kind of seems like it. Huh. 
> 
> Something I have considered is continuing the story and picking up in 1901 with the institution of what's called the marriage bar. Essentially, it was legislation that barred married women from working in many professions. I think it would be interesting to consider how that would effect their ideas around a marital partnership of equals. 
> 
> Let me know if that's something you'd like to see!
> 
> Thank you for reading, regardless!


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